King For A Day
by Q the Professor
Summary: A full-length take on what happens next in Admiral Styles' RPG, "Love and War". This story is an alternate continuity to "The Romance of the Way".
1. Prologue: The Misfit

**PROLOGUE  
**_**The Misfit**_

"_What is gossip?  
It is a truth taken out of context."_

_ - Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio_

_**Martell Socius College of Liberal Arts and Sciences  
Davenport, Galvenia  
C.Y. 348**_

_What is he doing here?_

The question urged itself, at first gently, then more and more insistently, on his mind. It had bothered him for many days, but never more than it did today.

With a small shake of his head, Karl Weseluc tried to concentrate on the lecture. It was, truth be told, a good lecture if you were – like Karl – passionately interested in archaeology, but today it left him cold. He was preoccupied, not with the lecture, but with the man delivering it.

_He doesn't belong here. Not in a small, privately-run college like this one. A man like that belongs in King's College, or – assuming he was out of favour with the regime – in Zion University. It's absurd. And yet – why do I bother? If my professor has a good reason to remain in Davenport, that's all the better for me! Yet – it's an oddity._

Oddities always bothered Karl, for whom an unresolved question or an anomalous observation invariably meant a sleepless night.

_I'll ask him. The worst he can do is brush me off, and like Mum, I don't mind being brushed off! I want to __**know.**_

The lecture ended, and the students filed out of the small classroom, most of them forming small groups as they excitedly discussed their plans for the weekend. Only Karl remained behind, his gaze fixed on the man who was now erasing the blackboard, his back to him.

_I might as well._

"Er, excuse me," Karl said, conscious that his voice was more high-pitched than usual, and embarrassed by this realization. "Professor…"

The man turned around slowly, unhurriedly, and put down his eraser before picking up his stick. Despite his stooped posture and graying hair, there was something solid about him, and he smiled as he faced Karl.

"Yes, young man?" he said, calmly. "Can I help you?"

"Um – I was just wondering, Professor…"

The Professor's expression was kind. "You're Weseluc, aren't you? Well, I rather enjoy having a physics major in my class on Archaeology, even if it's just an elective. And your last paper, though cluttered with unnecessary asides, was quite interesting. Are you, perhaps, objecting to the B that I gave you?"

"Oh no, Professor," Karl said, with a laugh. "I was expecting a C plus at best. As for the asides, they run in the family. My mum's the Rumour Mill of Davenport, and I guess I take after her that way. Anecdotes, side-notes, footnotes – I love them all. It's a wonder I took up physical science in the first place."

"That's interesting," the Professor said, "but it's surely not what you wanted to ask me. Now, come on. Out with it." He smiled.

"Professor…" Karl gathered up his courage, then blurted it out. "What are you doing in a place like this?"

"What do you mean?" The Professor's expression was puzzled, rather than offended.

"I mean this: though I'm not an archaeologist at all, you're – how do I put this? – too good for this place. Someone like you ought to be in King's College, or even the Commonwealth University of Higher Learning! Let's be honest, Professor," – Karl's voice grew forceful – "Socius College is a dump! It's for party animals and slobs who just want a degree before getting a reasonably paid job. Most of us are here because we couldn't get anything better, and those of us who've got scholarships are a minority. You don't belong here, Professor. Hell, half the boys sleep through your lectures! Why do you even bother?" He shook his head. "You deserve better, Professor Spenson."

The Professor looked bemused as he listened to this harangue, and when it was finished, he shook his head gently. He began to walk towards the College's main gate, with Karl following close behind.

"My dear young man," he said, "first of all, I think you overestimate me. But let us assume, for the sake of scholarly discussion, that what you say about these hallowed halls" – he looked around at the gleaming, deserted corridor – "is true. There may be reasons, other than the scholarly, why a man should choose a quiet, low-profile existence. But you are young, and perhaps you know little about these things."

"I see," Karl said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do you mean you've been declared _non grata_ by the Palace? But surely those days are past; King Derren is nothing like his father, and…."

"Wait a moment, Weseluc," Professor Spenson replied. "It is true that things are, shall we say, a little more liberal in these days. But it is not merely a question of political sympathies. If that were all it was, I would probably be in King's College as you suggest. But there are deeper reasons, personal reasons. You young folks probably see Derren as a man of the people, and execrate his father as a tyrant, as the evil genius behind the throne."

"Well, isn't that so?" Karl replied, with a frown. "I mean, my father was in the Army during the Mutiny of 318, and was cashiered for protecting some of the rebels. If it weren't for that, I would probably be in King's College as well! I have nothing good to say about that man, who set himself up as another Richard Lionheart, though he is not even of noble birth.…."

"Stop, young Weseluc," Professor Spenson said, holding up his hand in protest, "before you say something that would offend me. You see me now as a professor in a second-rate college, one of life's also-rans for all intents and purposes. It may surprise you to know, therefore, that there was a time when I actually was closely associated with him. And I know that he is not the tyrant that the youth of Galvenia believe him to be. He is flawed – but I believe that every great man has his flaws; only the Infinity is perfect."

"You speak as if you knew him well," Karl said, astonished by the rebuke.

"Oh, I certainly did," Professor Spenson replied, "though he would hardly be thrilled to acknowledge it. Destiny can play strange tricks on men. Today, we are strangers. But that will not prevent me from defending the memory of the man I knew – the man who, before the Infinity decreed otherwise, was my friend."

"Your friend?" Karl was shocked. "But – how could a man like that have a friend like you? What – changed him?"

"It is a long story," Professor Spenson said, picking up his book and waving at the groundsman who had just opened the gates for him. "But it is one that deserves to be told, and I can see that you are curious. Tell me, have you no plans for the end of the week?"

"None, really," Karl replied. "Mum and Dad have gone to visit my sister, who's just had a child, and I have my finals to prepare for. I was thinking of taking a trek to Ozunhold Castle, though."

"That sounds like a capital idea," Spenson said with approval. "But before that, what would you say to a cup of tea? Perhaps I could answer some of your questions. And Viola's teapot is large enough to accommodate a visitor, I'm sure. Only…"

"Yes?"

"You will have to keep my story to yourself, Weseluc," the Professor said, firmly. "The Prince Consort's antecedents are not to become fodder for the Rumour Mill, even if said mill is run by your own dear mother. Do you understand?" His eyes twinkled.

Karl laughed as they made their way down Gustav Eramond Lane. "Trust me, Professor," he said. "Unlike Mum, I'm the soul of discretion."


	2. Chapter 1: The Enemy Of My Enemy

**CHAPTER ONE**  
_**The Enemy Of My Enemy**_

**SOCIUS, MARTELL **_**(C.Y. 253 – 300)**__….Despite his attractive personality, and the undoubted increase in material prosperity that accompanied the first half of his rule as Prime Minister, Martell Socius' position in Galvenian history is an unenviable one. Not only did his death (q.v.) bring tensions between Galvenia, Zion and Varaldia to a crisis point, but his foreign policy led to the eventual collapse and disintegration of the Liberal Unionists over the next decade. Recent historical research has suggested, however, that he was far from the unconcerned progressive that Royalist propaganda often portrays… _

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Good work, men," the voice rang out, arrogant in its harshness, echoing through the now-silent halls of Deck A of the _Paradiso_. "I don't know about you scrubs, but this is one of my proudest moments as a member of the Zion Army."

"Aye, Lieutenant", two men's voices – more subdued, but still confident – replied. "Those 'Cutthroats' are no match for the defenders of the Valtemond Dynasty. I wonder if there are any of them left. Huang from Deck C says their toy boats are dead in the water."

"Quiet, you fools!" a voice hissed, low and menacing. Instantly, the three speakers fell silent, and looked up at their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Shimura of the 6th Imperial Battallion. "We need to find the Prince, before you start dancing like a passel of girls!"

"Wilhelm, Schmilhelm," the first speaker said, cockily, stepping towards Shimura. "The Pink Panthers will take care of him. Even those sissy-boys could easily handle a handful of pirates." The two men with him laughed at his description of Wilhelm's personal guards, who were universally loathed by the regular regiments for having a "soft job".

"Shut up, Metzger," Shimura replied, curtly. "The Guard of Honour may need help, and we're going down there. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Captain Metzger replied. "Come with me, you two lunkheads, and look sharp. I wonder if the Pink Panthers have turned tail and run. Or perhaps they're still standing there, frozen with fear at the sound of a gunshot or two."

"Well, if that's the case, go and thaw them out, Metzger," Shimura said, with a cold smile on his face. "If they're too scared, sing them a lullaby in that parade-ground baritone of yours."

Loud laughter greeted this suggestion as Metzger and his two privates headed in the direction of the Crown Prince's chambers…

xxx

"I'm sorry, Mr. Regale," Lieutenant John Reckland said, walking away from the radio terminal, which remained silent except for the odd burst of static. "There's no further news. I can only repeat what we know, and what the Admiralty has confirmed. The Naval High Command at Lorean intercepted a distress call on a Zion wavelength, claiming that the _Paradiso _was dead in the water and had been boarded by pirates."

"And the Commonwealth?" Sigmund Regale said hoarsely. His hands were twitching, and the veins on his forehead were beginning to stand out. _By King Richard, I need a drink,_ he thought. "Is there any news from the Naval Authority?"

"None so far, Sir. As soon as we received the news, we notified the Commonwealth ships that patrol the Zion-Galvenia waters, and they are mounting a rescue expedition. But until now, we have heard nothing from them."

"Well – thank you, Lieutenant," Sigmund said, as he emerged from the Naval Information Bureau at Serin's Peak Naval Shipyard, and looked out across the sea helplessly. "You've been very helpful. Please inform me as soon as you learn anything further."

"Mr. Regale," Reckland said, quietly, "was there anyone – on that ship? A family member? A friend?"

Sigmund shook his head. "A family friend," he said, so softly that Reckland had to strain to hear him. "I'd best be on my way home, Lieutenant. Good day – and thank you for your service."

"Thank you, sir," Reckland replied, saluting before he returned to his post inside the Bureau.

_This – cannot be happening_, Sigmund thought, as he stood seemingly fixed to the spot where the Lieutenant had left him. _There must be someone I can ask – something I can do. And even if it costs me, I'm willing to pay the price._

_Not for myself. I gave up on myself long ago, and I can hardly summon up even a little sympathy for an old acquaintance like Theodore._

_Not for me. For Lavie._

xxx

"Wake up, young man." The tone of the voice made it clear that it was a command, but not a threat. "You have some explaining to do."

Ryan Eramond shook his head, and opened his eyes, staring uncomprehendingly at the man in uniform before him.

"Colonel?" It was the only word that came to his mind, though his eyes were telling him that this was clearly not Colonel Whitworth's gym. His shoulder throbbed with pain, and he was unable to open one eye.

"Well, aren't you a clever boy," Lieutenant-Colonel Shimura said, softly. "Metzger, help the boy stand. I need to question him."

"Where – am I?" Ryan stammered, and then – with all the intensity and immediacy of a flash of lightning – it came back to him. He shuddered, and tried to take stock of his surroundings.

_The pirates…_

_Captain Blackheart…_

_I…shot. Killed. I killed him…I'm a killer….Just like Juno. A killer…._

_No, I can't think about that. I don't want to think about that. I only did what I…_

"Carranya!" The word burst from him involuntarily, before he could even realize that he was speaking out loud. "C – where is she? Where am I?"

"Carranya?" Captain Metzger said, shaking his head. "Great Caledonia, Shimura, the boy's delirious. Probably been conked on the head. Shall I call in the medic?"

"No, Metzger, I think he's speaking quite lucidly," Shimura replied. "Get up, boy."

Ryan struggled to his feet, and found to his horror that his hands were cuffed, and that he was chained to a wall of the room – which seemed to be an officer's quarters.

"Good. Now, listen to me, son. I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Shimura, 6th Imperial Battalion. I'm going to tell you what I think happened, and you're going to answer. If you tell the truth, you have nothing to fear. After all, our countries are allies." He smiled – a thin, forced smile – and then sat down in an armchair, facing Ryan. The man named Metzger stood to one side, carrying his rifle.

"Your name is Ryan Eramond – I have your ticket, by the way. You are a passenger from Deck E, who boarded at Davenport and is bound for Caledonia. What is your errand?"

"I – I work for my father," Ryan said, slowly. "He asked me to deliver a package to Caledonia."

"Yes, that's right," Metzger said, holding a large, paper-wrapped parcel in one large hand.

"Were you travelling alone?" Suddenly, Ryan was aware of a bright light shining on the wall opposite him – a light that brought tears to his eyes.

"Yes…"

Metzger pushed him roughly, and he fell to one knee.

"Now, that's not correct, boy. You were in a double room. Who shared that room with you?"

"I had – a business associate," Ryan said, closing his eyes. "She missed the boat, and I sailed alone."

"Hmph. A likely story. Have you ever met Martell Socius, Prime Minister of Galvenia?"

"What?" Ryan exclaimed.

"Oh, we have our sources, boy. Metzger, stand by in case he needs a little – encouragement."

"Roger, Colonel," Metzger said, giving Ryan a hard look.

"Let me recapitulate. You and another man – I presume it was your 'business associate' – were contacted by Martell Socius less than a week ago. What a fool. I didn't know Socius picked greenhorns to do his dirty work. You sailed alone, and you made contact with the girl. We found both of you near the stairwell to Deck A; she was awake and sobbing, and you had passed out. _Who is she, Eramond?_" The last few words were hissed.

"Her name is Carrie Lind…" Ryan began, only to receive a buffet from Metzger.

"Pitiful. As a loyal Galvenian, do you not recognize your future ruler, Princess Carranya – Gerius – Elizabeth – Alexandra Lionheart?" Shimura replied, pausing carefully between each name. "What were you doing on this ship? Tell me the truth. It is the only thing that can save you now."

"I swear," Ryan said helplessly, "I did not know she was on the ship. I met her quite by accident…" And, hardly drawing a breath, Ryan unburdened himself of the entire tale – his chance encounter with Carranya, his quixotic attempt to shield her, and the desperate fight with Blackheart's pirates – hardly aware of what he was saying, wishing only that the light would be turned off, and that Metzger's grip on his aching arm would loosen.

Shimura listened to him with a thoughtful expression on his face, then made a sign to Metzger, who let go of Ryan as soon as he had finished. "You're telling the truth, boy," he said, at the end. "Either that, or you're a master storyteller. For what it's worth, I believe you. Infinity help you both, though. Especially that silly young woman. Her sense of timing is deplorable." He shook his head. "What did she think she was going to achieve? She wouldn't even have come close to meeting the Emperor."

"Carranya is not…" Ryan began indignantly, but the look in Shimura's eyes told him to keep his peace.

"At any rate, for the moment, you are under our custody, Ryan Eramond. Metzger, release him. We will allow you to return to your room, and you will receive the necessary medical attention. As for the Princess – well, Eramond, I may have failed to protect the Crown Prince, but rest assured that I shall watch over her with the utmost care."

Ryan nodded, unsure what to say.

"One last thing, Eramond. Your 'business partner', who conveniently missed the boat – what was her name?"

"Lavie – I mean, Lavender Regale," Ryan replied, tonelessly.

"Ah, Regale." Shimura repeated the surname as if he were taking a sip of fine wine, then nodded. "I see. Well, Eramond, don't worry about the Princess. You've done what you could, and that's quite impressive – for a Galvenian." He smiled.

"Can I – speak to her?" Ryan said, softly.

"In good time, Eramond," Shimura replied calmly. "Metzger, take the boy to his room, leave two of your men at his door, and come back. This is an unholy mess, and all I can do is keep it from getting messier. Permission to leave."

"Yes, sir," Metzger said, as he and his men led an unprotesting Ryan back to his room. He looked at them hopefully, but their faces were inscrutable. One thought alone came to his mind.

_Carranya...Carranya, I will see you again. I will protect you._

xxx

"Courage, Your Majesty," Lady Rochelle Anton said, gently. "All is not lost yet. We have no idea where the Princess might be, but God will bring her back to you."

Queen Katarina dried her eyes, dabbing at them delicately with her lace-edged handkerchief, and shook her head. "That's kind of you, Rochelle," she said. "It would be easier if His Majesty showed some concern – but, to look at him, you'd think the Princess had already been found, or worse…."

"That she did not matter to him? Do not say that, Your Majesty," Lady Anton replied. She was a distant relation of the King's, but there was little love lost between them – King Arlbert found her constant moralizing wearisome, and she felt the same about his incessant gaming and womanizing. However, she was one of the long-suffering Queen's greatest supports, and hence enjoyed a comfortable – if somewhat precarious – existence in Lorean Castle. "We are women, and the ways of men are different from ours. Our role is not to judge, but to endure and have faith in the Infinity."

"You are right," the Queen replied, her voice still unsteady. "My good Rochelle, I don't know what I would do without you."

"Probably a lot more work, and a lot less silly chattering," the King said as he entered all of a sudden, sweeping aside the curtains at the door of the Queen's chamber and laughing loudly. "What are you two women caterwauling about now?"

"We were merely praying for the Princess' safe return, Your Majesty," Lady Anton said icily.

"Oh, is that so?" King Arlbert said, finding this remark hilarious. "Well, your ladyship, if she's anything like her dear father, she would certainly be out with a young man. In a sense, I blame you and Katarina. You've converted this Palace into an Itarian nunnery, and Carranya is my child, after all. There was only so much she could take." He beamed at Katarina, who winced.

"My king," she said, in a strained voice, "are you certain that some misfortune has not befallen her?"

"Misfortune, faugh," King Arlbert replied, chuckling to himself. "Didn't Trask and his men find clear evidence of her having left the Palace of her own accord? I only hope the young man isn't a commoner. That would be so annoying, especially to my prim and proper Queen." He placed one large hand over her head, seemingly unconcerned by the way she shrank from him, and began to laugh again. "But Carranya's my girl, Katarina, and not yours. It's probably a nice Count or a young Earl. Whoever it is, I take my crown off to him. What a bold young pup…."

"Your Majesty!" Lady Anton interrupted, unable to contain her outrage. "Please remember that we are speaking of the future Queen of Galvenia…"

"Oh, yes, it's unfortunate that Katarina never had a son," Arlbert replied mercilessly, brushing her aside with a dismissive gesture of his other hand. "And there's that troublesome bit about legitimacy, isn't there?" He roared with laughter. "Well, enjoy yourself, my precious Sob Sisters. Just don't say too many prayers, or the Infinity might lose his patience with you both. And now, to upbraid that fool Socius! Ah, when all is said and done, it's good to be King!" Still laughing into his beard, he swept out of the chamber.

"Heaven help us," Queen Katarina whispered, pale-faced. "What if – Rochelle, what if the King was right? What if Carranya has…" She dared not put her thought into words.

Lady Anton patted the Queen's hand soothingly. "Take courage, my Queen," she replied. "God would never permit such an evil thing to happen."

xxx

"Lavie!" The voice broke in on her thoughts – an interruption that was both welcome and unwelcome. Welcome because anything was preferable to thinking about…._that_; unwelcome because there is a certain luxury in misery, as long as one's own life is not threatened. "Long time since I've seen you down at the beach! Are you looking for shells too?"

"Hi, Viola," Lavender Regale replied, still looking out at the sea. "Shells? I – I wish it was that simple, you know."

"Are you worrying about the _Paradiso_?" Viola Benise said, walking closer to her, and Lavie winced. "All I can say is that it's lucky you weren't on that ship. Pirates – I don't know why some people think they're so romantic! They're criminals." She shuddered.

"Could we please talk about something else?" Lavie said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Viola – I'm not the best of company right now."

"This is about Ryan, isn't it?" Viola replied, looking at Lavie sympathetically. "I saw his mother and father heading to Serin's Peak a little earlier today. I'm – sorry. I know that sounds lame, but I mean it."

"Thanks, Viola," Lavie replied, forcing herself to smile. "I suppose – I shouldn't worry. After all, there's nothing I can do. It's funny, isn't it?"

"What is, Lavie?" Viola said, softly.

"I mean, look at me! People look at me and say, "Oh, Lavie Regale. She has money and everything money can buy!" Maybe that's true, Viola, but that's not who I am! I'm not Miss Commonwealth Dollars, or Miss Regale Enterprises! God, I wish – I'd give it all up, honestly, if only – if only Ryan were back here…." She covered her face with her hands, and Viola said nothing, but remained beside her, looking at the sunset.

"Lavie," she said, after a little while, "why don't we go back home? It's getting late, and I'm sure your folks will be worrying about you. Come, I'll walk with you, if you want."

"That's nice of you," Lavie said softly. "Tell me, Viola –"

"Yes?" Viola said, looking up at her with a smile.

"Never mind," Lavie said, looking back at her and shaking her head again. "Come on, let's head home. You're probably right. If only it was easier to…"

"Lavie?" Viola looked at her with concern.

"To stay at home," Lavie said, looking down.

A look of understanding came over Viola's face, but she said nothing as they both walked back to Casa Regale.

xxx

"Good morning, Trask. I trust that all is well?"

Silas Trask, Chief of Palace Security, looked up at his interlocutor with annoyance. A man of humble origins, who ascribed his position to hard work and intelligence, he was always irked by nobles – especially those who looked like they had just climbed off one of the oil paintings in the Queen's chamber, and had the flamboyant costumes to match.

"Quite well, Sir Prescott," he replied, with a cursory salute – a gesture of veiled disrespect that could hardly be lost on the young Commander of Galvenia's elite land troops, the Rough Riders. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"As a loyal subject of the King, Trask, I must keep him informed of the state of our troops," Sir Prescott Chuselwock replied. "It is perhaps unexciting work compared to yours, but it must be done."

Trask glared at him. By now, the news of Princess Carranya's escape was common knowledge among the Army and the Police – though an official story of illness had been circulated to the Press, and a public announcement postponing her coming-of-age celebration had been made in every town of Galvenia. Though Arlbert was taking the matter calmly enough, the Queen and that fussbudget of a Prime Minister were a different proposition. He was on dangerous ground, and Prescott's barbs did not make him any less uncomfortable. "You are right, Sir Prescott," he said, calmly. "If you wish to see the King, he is in the Throne Room with Prime Minister Socius and Minister of the Interior Fairfax. They are waiting for you, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Trask," Sir Prescott said, with a broad smile, as he sauntered into the Palace.

_I have to think fast,_ Trask thought to himself, looking with irritation at Sir Prescott's receding figure. _Every problem can be tackled at two ends. That's what old Foley always taught us in the Policemen's Academy. The question of where Carranya is, I leave to the official police. But finding out how she escaped, and who helped her – that is my chance to redeem myself, and to please my masters._

Suddenly, he smiled.

_And I know just the men to help me. Now to send a quick telegram._

_xxx_

The next few days were, to use a vulgar phrase, a "mad blur" in the minds of many in Galvenia and Zion, as they were bombarded with information that shocked, surprised and confused them.

The _Paradiso_ had been found by Zion ships. No, it was Commonwealth ships who were mounting the rescue. Prince Wilhelm was dead. The ship had been attacked by the Varaldian army. No, by pirates taking advantage of the laxity of the Commonwealth Naval Authority. Princess Carranya had been found with a young nobleman aboard the ship. No, she had been abducted. Carranya had been rescued and was being taken to Caledonia. No, she was in Lorean Castle, receiving medical care for her wounds.

Amidst all this din – the mourning of the Zion Empire, the rejoicing in Galvenia, and the outraged protestations of innocence from the Varald Directorate – the Commonwealth Executive Council was finding it hard, very hard, to remain a voice for reason.

The fact that their President-Elect had, like Wilhelm, been assassinated aboard his ship did not help matters in the least. They had been in session for over three hours, and nothing constructive had emerged.

"My brothers," Lord Lucan was saying – though no one, except the dour Archbishop Mazarus of Itaria was truly paying attention – "we must not lose our heads. First of all, there is the matter of the Presidency of the Commonwealth. Can we not vote on this, before moving on to the – ahem – painful affair of the _Paradiso_?"

"Vote away, Lucan," Commissioner Jansen of Varaldia said irritably, lighting his pipe with unsteady hands. "As I have already told you, Terrin Hipper is the President. If you wish to acknowledge this, please do so. It is not the Directorate's fault that the Zion Elite Corps is so poor at protecting their President-Elect. And as this sordid _Paradiso_ affair shows, your attempt to assign blame to us is futile! You should be seeking means to curb these pirates, who act with impunity and strike without fear."

Viceroy Kanoi of Zion suppressed – with great difficulty – an overwhelming urge to punch his Varaldian colleague on the nose. A burly, moustached nobleman, he had been a noted pugilist in his youth, so this was no idle wish. But he was under orders from the Zion Emperor, Charlemagne – received earlier that day through a telegram – to accept defeat on the issue of the Presidency, and he merely grunted.

"Let us have the vote, then," Lucius Mazarus said placatingly. "The proposition is this: Whether Terrin Hipper, runner-up in the Commonwealth Presidential Election, is approved as President by the Council after the untimely death of the winner, Junzio Koketsu of Zion. Representative Jedda, would you begin?"

Jedda of the Fulton Republic laughed. He was a young man – youngest on the Council, and the son of a plutocrat from Jadeed who, it was whispered, had made his fortune through far from legal means. From his father, he had inherited not just his wealth, but his irreverent sense of humour. "Well, gentlemen, to me this is a simple proposition. A headless chicken is worse than a chicken with a head. If the Varald will promise to keep Hipper alive, and not let some pirate assassinate him as well, then I accept. Otherwise, we might as well nominate one of those pirates to lead us. They are certainly efficient, and efficiency is not something the Commonwealth is known for."

Mazarus, despite his age and gravity, had to stifle a laugh, but Kanoi and Jansen glared at him. Jedda, unconcerned, went on. "To cut a long story short, gentlemen, I accept. My good Archbishop, what about you?"

"I oppose this motion myself, Representative Jedda," Mazarus said, firmly. "Some people think the Varald should be treated with kindness and consideration. But it would be a sin against the Infinity to support having another of them as president, especially after the religious repressions that Miller enshrined…"

"Repressions?" Jansen broke in angrily. "Miller guaranteed freedom of conscience to all, and your prattle cannot change that! Does your Infinity not teach you not to lie, Mazarus?"

"I have said what I will say," Mazarus said, meeting his glare with a steady, determined expression, and folding his arms. "Lord Lucan, it is your turn to speak."

"Galvenia abstains," Lucan replied, seating himself slowly and deliberately at the Council's table. "The situation is complex, and Prime Minister Socius is seeking clarifications from experts in Commonwealth Law. We have no objection in principle, but we do not want to be party to anything illegal."

"Typical Galvenia," Mazarus muttered under his breath. "Afraid to stand up for their beliefs, but willing to fall for anything."

"Do not grumble, Mazarus," Jedda joked. "Imagine if Bryans had become President. Commissioner Jansen, we assume that you approve. Am I right?"

"You are," Jansen said, curtly.

"That only leaves Kanoi," Lord Lucan said. "What do you say, Viceroy?"

"The Emperor has instructed me to accept," Kanoi said, unwillingly, "and though I deplore this decision, I must obey him."

"We have three votes in favour, one abstention, and one against," Jedda said, and whistled. "Gentlemen, I'm impressed. We of the Commonwealth have actually taken a decision! This would call for a round of applause and drinks on the house, if we didn't have this annoying _Paradiso_ business to deal with. Now, who is in favour of deploying Commonwealth ships to aid in a rescue?"

"_Nyet_," Commissioner Jansen said, staring at Kanoi. "Until our President approves such a mission, we cannot even consider such a proposal."

"Do not be absurd, Jansen," Kanoi replied, pointing a stubby finger at him. "We are authorized to do so, when there is a risk of harm to civilians. Lord Geraud himself made such a provision in Chapter Seven of the Charter…"

"Actually, Kanoi," Lord Lucan interrupted, "Chapter Seven probably refers only to civilian casualties during a war or other armed conflict…"

Round and round in circles they went, unable to reach a decision. The _Paradiso_ remained where it was.

xxx

"Sire," Martell Socius said slowly, "I am sure you understand the gravity of the situation."

"Gravity? Fiddlesticks, my dear Socius. Do not be like Wilhelm and his Zion friends, who came and worried me nearly to death with their talk of Koketsu, war and alliances. It didn't do Wilhelm much good, though. God rest his soul." Arlbert laughed at his own witticism, though the others in the room – Socius, Interior Minister Fairfax, Sir Prescott, and War Minister Alan Sheffield – merely smiled politely. "Well, Wilhelm is dead. Let the Zion mourn him. I suppose we may have to observe a day of silence, or something, but let's not overdo it. Confound it, the man cost me a good day's hunting with his blather. Now, Socius, I hope you aren't going to emulate him. Remember that Wilhelm didn't live long after annoying me." He chuckled.

"Sire, we understand your point of view, and no disrespect was intended," Socius said. "However, the Crown Princess is still in Zionese hands, and on Zionese soil, at Darington. She will be escorted by Imperial soldiers to Lorean, and will reach in two days' time."

"Bah," Arlbert replied. "I know that already. What's this about a young man with her?"

"Apparently, the Princess' life was saved by a young Galvenian who happened to be on the ship. This has been confirmed by both the surviving sailors, who are now at Serin's Peak, and by the messages we have received from the Zion Army."

"A likely story," Arlbert scoffed. "Who is this man, Socius? Give me a straight answer – something that you parliamentarians seem unable to do." He chuckled again.

"His name is Ryan Eramond, and he is a businessman's son from Davenport," Socius replied. "There is nothing in his antecedents to suggest any sort of treachery or dealing with the enemy, though my men at Davenport say he is a disciple of old Whitworth. Perhaps he learnt his chivalry there."

"Socius, I am disappointed," Arlbert groaned. "You mean he was _not_ eloping with my child? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Perhaps something will bloom in time, though it will have to wither as well, what with his being a commoner. Businessman's son – bah!"

"I'm afraid not, Sire," Socius replied, unable to repress a smile. "The Commonwealth remains deadlocked, though the election of Hipper as president has been approved by a vote of three to one – with Lucan abstaining. But it seems little doubt that this incident, though mysterious, will bring the simmering cauldron of Zion-Varald enmity to a boil, Sire. Both sides are spoiling for a fight. Director Kievan has already begun troop deployments at the Ghetz border, and Emperor Charlemagne has moved four regiments to the border town of Eriksburg, besides recalling some troops from Darington to strengthen the regular Army. We will soon be forced to show the Zion our hand, Your Majesty."

"Show them Queen Katarina's fan instead, Socius," Arlbert said, irritably. "Is this why you're wasting my time, when I could be out – ahem – paying a visit to Ozun City? Your name should be Tedious, not Socius."

"Very amusing, Your Majesty," Alan Sheffield replied politely. "The long and the short of it is, the Zion are bound to send a formal envoy along with the Princess, probably with a formal request for an alliance. What should our reply be, Sire?"

"Tell them," the King said, rising from his chair, "that we'll give them soldiers if they give us back Darington. And Issachar, as well. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a friend waiting for me, and it is most impolite to make friends wait. Good day to you."

Without a word, he strode out of the Throne Room, his head held high.

"The fool," Sir Cornelius Fairfax said as soon as he had left, swearing under his breath. "Can we face the Zion with a reply like that, after they have saved Carranya's life?"

"Calm down, Fairfax," Sheffield said. "When the envoys come, he will be forced to behave himself. He is merely saying to us what he cannot say to them. Socius, what news?"

"Gentlemen, I might surprise you," Socius replied, "by saying that neither Carranya, nor the war, are my primary concern now. My main concern is that we have an enemy, not in the Directorate, but in our own camp. The capture of Talmadge and Kodenai – and Talmadge sang quite prettily when we told him what we knew – only confirms this, and I now have a good idea of who that enemy is. Unfortunately, neither the King nor the Queen will believe me if I told them, unless I have further proof. None, except Trask and I, know the whole story. Can I trust you with it?"

"Of course, Socius, of course," Sheffield said, warmly. Despite their differences over military funding, he was an admirer of Socius, and he was one of the few who knew what struggles he had in getting Arlbert to made rational decisions, and in keeping peace in the Royal household. "I have had my suspicions for some time. Name the person, my friend, and we will help you."

"That goes for me, too," Sir Cornelius added.

"As a representative of the Army, and a fellow soldier, you can count on me, Socius," was Sir Prescott's rejoinder.

Socius, leaning forward, mentioned a name. Fairfax looked stunned, as if he had received a heavy blow to the head; Sheffield looked grave; but Sir Prescott merely nodded slowly.

"Impossible," Fairfax said, hoarsely.

"I had my suspicious," Sheffield said, "but….what if the person you mention is just a tool, Socius? There may be someone higher, someone more powerful, here in Galvenia itself."

"I have been thinking along the same lines for a while, Socius, but I thought they had covered their tracks too carefully. I'm impressed," Sir Prescott said, with a small smile on his face. "What is to be done?"

"I have an idea," Socius said, "but it will involve taking risks."

"We must not let that stop us, Socius," Sir Prescott said. "The future of Galvenia may be at stake."

"Proofs, Socius," Fairfax said feebly. "We cannot accuse someone in that position without proof…"

"Oh, we'll get the proofs," Sheffield said, darkly. "But even once we have them, what can we do?"

xxx


	3. Chapter 2: A House Is Not A Home

**CHAPTER TWO**  
_**A House Is Not A Home**_

**SPENSON, ALPHONSE **_(C.Y. 250 – C.Y. 318)….Though relatively unsung in his day, history and criticism have been kind to the legacy of Spenson, who is now considered the spiritual father of the literary school of Galvenian Realism. This interpretation is based on his early works and their trenchant analysis of family and social mores among the Galvenian middle-class, but fails to take into account his later works, which were more overtly political…_

_ - ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Henrik."

It was a single word, but Henrik Spenson knew what it meant; it was a request, almost a command, for attention and obedience. He looked up from his book – _Essays in Galvenian History – _with a sigh of relief, and rose to face his father.

"Good afternoon, Father," he said. "What's the matter?"

"There's a telegram for you, boy," he replied, handing it to him without another word. "What have you been doing?"

Henrik tore open the telegram and read it. It was brief and to the point.

SILAS TRASK, CHIEF OF PALACE SECURITY, LOREAN CASTLE

MR SPENSON KINDLY PRESENT YOURSELF AT MY OFFICE AT 1500 HOURS TOMORROW. AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS HERE.

"They want me to go to the Palace," Henrik said, with a puzzled expression on his face, as he handed the message to his father. "I think I know why."

"Well, enlighten me," Alphonse Spenson said, drily. "I didn't know my son was a celebrity."

"I'm not, Father," Henrik assured him. "It's just that, a couple of weeks ago, Ryan and I did – a little job for Mr. Trask at the Palace. He wanted us to help him in tracking someone."

"Good grief, Henrik," Alphonse protested. "You seem to forget that you are now committed to one thing alone: your studies at King's College. I don't need to remind you that of hundred students who receive a scholarship, only about thirty can pass the entrance examination. These foolish escapades have got to stop."

"But Father," Henrik began, "this was something important! Apparently there's a traitor on the loose in Galvenia, and he's…."

"Henrik." The word silenced him more effectively than a blow or a rebuke. "Listen to me. I may not show it openly – I am not that kind of person – but I am very proud of your academic achievements. I believe you will have a fine future as a scholar one day. And I do _not_ want you to throw it away and become a mercenary for the stooges at Lorean! Is that clear?"

"I'm not a mercenary, Father –"

"Be quiet, boy, and listen to me. Do you not realize, Henrik, that after I lost Barbara, you are all I have in the world? I've seen more of life than you, Henrik. I know exactly what our government, and our intelligence agents, are capable of. There are things I know, from my days as a journalist, which would probably cause fat old Arlbert to die of apoplexy if they were printed. Do not throw away a golden future to run with those hounds. As your father, I order it."

Henrik remained silent, his head bowed. Finally, seeing a glimmer of hope, he spoke.

"But even if what you say is true, Father, I can't just ignore this message," he replied. "It would be bad form to ignore a missive from the Palace."

Alphonse closed his eyes. "You have a point there, boy," he said, after a long silence. "Here is what you must do. Go meet this Mr. Trask, and tell him that you're very sorry, but you have other commitments, and your parents do not wish you to undertake this task. Also, tell him that if he has any objections, he can address them to Alphonse Spenson, Number 17, Chester Lane, Davenport. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Father," Henrik replied.

**xxx**

"How is he, Hocha?" Sheila Eramond asked, anxiety writ large on her normally kind, pleasant face.

Hubert Hocha – the late Colonel Whitworth's batman – stood up from the chair where he, along with Dr. Dubois, the Army surgeon from Serin's Peak, had been keeping a watch over Ryan. It was his second day in the Davenport Infirmary, and he was still only partly conscious.

"A little better, Mrs. Eramond," Hocha said, with a smile. "His wounds are healing well, and thank God, modern medicine is now able to tackle those which have turned septic. He will still take about a week to mend, and he should emerge from his delirium in two or three days."

"Quite right, ma'am," Dr. Dubois – a short man with a brisk, unfussy manner – replied, with a kind look at her. "He's a strong young man. I'm not sure what shape his mind is in, but he'll be up and about in a week or so."

"His mind?" Sheila shuddered.

"Oh, he's been through quite a lot – unfortunately, because he was confused, I couldn't get a coherent account from him. But it's certain that he's witnessed quite a massacre, and that he had to draw his own weapon to defend the Princess. Moreover, I doubt our Zion brethren were particularly gentle when they detained him; I don't trust their "Military Code of Conduct" any further than I can throw it. But don't worry. He'll probably have a few nightmares over it, that's all. Just be gentle with him."

"I will," Sheila said fervently. "Thank you so much, Doctor."

"My thanks too," Theodore Eramond said, walking into the room from his position near the door, where he had listened to the doctor's words with relief. "You've been very helpful."

"Oh, that's my job, Mr. Eramond," Dr. Dubois replied, as they shook hands. "Now, keep a close watch on him during the night, and call the nurse if anything unusual happens. I'll see you again in the morning. Good night."

"Good night, Doctor; good night, Hocha," Sheila said gratefully, as the two men left the room.

"Ryan, my boy," she began, as she sat down next to him. "What have they done to you?"

"Don't worry, Sheila," Theodore said kindly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "The boy is Gustav's grandson, after all. He'll survive."

They looked at each other with a shared understanding, and Sheila relaxed. As fond as they were of each other, even after twenty-four years of marriage, they could not deny the fact that their home, without Ryan, had felt very empty indeed.

**xxx**

"Your Imperial Majesty," Count Hunermann said, softly, "we have received a reply from the Galvenians. Our envoys, General Tegawa and Viceroy Becher of Darington, have just sent me a wire."

"Hunermann," Charlemagne said wearily, "don't tire me out with details. I can't take that, even from my own Chamberlain. What do they say?"

"The news is not entirely good, Your Imperial Majesty," Hunermann replied. "Arlbert has agreed to an alliance – I quote – 'in the event that an actual armed conflict takes place, and once it is clear that a diplomatic solution is impossible.' He can assure us of at least ten armed regiments, but only with the above _caveat_. Tegawa says that Socius and Sheffield would probably have permitted more, but Arlbert was unwilling."

Charlemagne moved uncomfortably, groaning with pain as he did so. "The imbecile," he muttered. "Does he not realize what he owes to us? Would he be happier if we had left his daughter on the _Paradiso_, pending a 'diplomatic solution'? Truly, it is sad to see a dynasty of one's kinsmen reduced to this."

"They await your instructions, Sire, now that Wilhelm is…"

"There's no need to dance around facts, Hunermann." Emperor Charlemagne scowled. "My son is dead, and as feeble as my body is, I will now have to assist you – at least with my mind. Tell them to accept Arlbert's offer, and to make contact with our agents in Galvenia, so that we can anticipate any unexpected move on their part. We will have to be content with that – I do not want another skirmish with the Galvenians, who though base, are good fighters. See that my instructions are obeyed to the letter. Is that clear?"

"Very well, Your Highness," Hunermann said, bowing before he left the darkened room. As he departed, he could not help feeling a pang of sympathy for the ailing Emperor, who now had no lineal descendant to succeed him.

_There are Imperial cousins and nephews, of course – and the Empress could always assume power as a figurehead, if Charlemagne grew too ill. But still – God save our Emperor. Unlike the Galvenians, the Zion Emperor is still a worthy example of royalty._

_Perhaps we can get Socius to cooperate, even if Arlbert won't play_, he thought, with a smile, as he returned to issue his orders. _After all, he owes us a favour._

**xxx**

"Just look at this, Sigmund," Emily Regale said, looking hopefully at her husband, who had his nose buried firmly in the newspapers. "It says that they're having an auction of fine porcelain at Alton this Saturday! Isn't that a golden opportunity?"

"Hmm?" Sigmund said, sipping his coffee with an indifferent expression on his face. "I don't know, Emily. A lot of what they sell at such auctions is second-rate. Far better to buy from a dealer, I say."

"Sigmund, you're being annoying as usual," Emily said patiently. "Some of these pieces are being auctioned off by the Marksmith estate, and the Countess of Marksmith certainly isn't "second-rate"! What do you say, Lavie?"

"Umm, I don't know, Mom," Lavie replied, feeling heartily sick of this discussion. It seemed to her that every conversation between her father and mother, of late, ended this way – in mutual annoyance, an _impasse_, and the withdrawal of one or both parties.

"You know, Lavie," Sigmund said, in his 'helpful' voice, "I think moping around the house isn't going to do you much good. Ryan's returned safely, but he's going to take some time to recover, and it's no good complaining that they don't let visitors in. Rules are rules."

"How like a man," Emily retorted. "Even Sheila told me that they were being unduly strict at that Infirmary. Sigmund, you ought to write to our Member, and complain about their high-handed attitude. A boy's parents have a right to visit him, as they did in the good old days, before doctors came up with high-flown words like "infection". I told Sheila to say so, and to complain to the Superintendent if that Dr. Dubois got too big for his boots."

"On second thoughts, if you're going to give Sheila Eramond bad advice," Sigmund said sharply, "I think a day or two at Alton might do you some good. Why don't you accompany your mother, Lavie? You might try learning a little bit of science there, from that School of Higher Learning."

"You're impossible, Sigmund," Emily said, shaking her head, then changed her tone, trying to sound more reasonable. "Look, we mothers stick together. I was just trying to make Sheila feel a little better. What is so difficult to understand about that?"

"I give up," Sigmund said, folding up his newspaper with a sigh. "If you need me for anything constructive, I'll be in the library – Robertson and Vryce will both be coming by during the day, so I'd appreciate as few interruptions as possible." And with these words, he left the table, leaving mother and daughter facing each other.

"It's – not fair, Mom," Lavie began, shaking her head. "Why won't they let us see Ryan?"

Emily took her daughter's hand in her own. "I know how you feel, honey," she replied, "but as much as I hate to admit it, Sigmund and the doctor are probably right."

"I wish Gran was here," Lavie went on. "She'd – somehow she'd just know what to do, and what to say…"

"Not with Sigmund in this state of mind, Lavie," Emily said somberly. "You could, of course, pay her a visit if you wanted."

"Pay her a visit?" Lavie looked at her mother, surprised. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

She smiled back. "What do you say, Lavie? We could take the carriage to Alton tomorrow for the auction, and on our way back, you can catch the ferry to Mann Island. Stay a little while, if you want, and by the time you get back, Ryan should be better!"

"I don't know, Mom," Lavie said doubtfully. "I'd love to see Gran, but somehow I feel – that I should be here for Ryan, even though he probably wouldn't want to see me." She rubbed her eyes with one hand. "I just feel that…"

"Oh, Lavie," Emily said, affectionately. "I know just what you mean. Men are like that, unfortunately – especially those we care for. We can't live with them peacefully, but we can't quite live without them either."

"Very funny, Mom," Lavie replied, trying to smile.

**xxx**

"These rumours are disturbing, Your Holiness, and we cannot brush them away," Archbishop Diaz said, shaking his head and sending his thick shock of unruly hair flying. He was the Pontiff's personal advisor on foreign relations, and like Socius, he sometimes had trouble making his ruler see the obvious. "They have even reached the Commonwealth."

Pontiff Pious XXI, Supreme Leader of the Church of the Infinity, smiled benevolently. "But, my good Diaz," he replied, "this is a purely internal Church affair. Why should the Commonwealth bother about something as trivial as this?"

"Your Holiness, given the state of the world, this is hardly trivial," Diaz protested. "The nations are in ferment over the threat of a second Zion-Varald war. At this time, rumours and conspiracies become popular subjects of discussion."

"What are we accused of doing this time?" Pious XXI said, bemused.

"You are, of course, aware of the Shrine of Saint Geraud at Issachar," Archbishop Diaz began.

"Certainly, my friend; it is one of Zion's most renowned centres of pilgrimage. I myself celebrated the Pontifical Liturgy there last year. Do the Zion now want to replace it with a memorial to Charlemagne, who has one foot in the grave?" He laughed.

"If only," Diaz replied with a sigh. "As you well know, Your Holiness, in the year 227 of the Commonwealth Calendar, two Zionese children – Anna and Ludwig Schilder – witnessed an apparition of Saint Geraud in a small chapel at Issachar. According to the children's account – verified by the commission of the Archbishop of Caledonia – Saint Geraud warned them that a great evil would soon befall the Commonwealth that he had created, and that it could be weakened – though not stopped – through prayer and repentance."

"I am familiar with the story, Diaz," Pious XXI said impatiently. "And that prophecy was fulfilled at the Battle of Chespa Bay, in the year 253, where the Commonwealth was nearly destroyed by Almonth Jakov's anarchists. Yet we survived, and there were salutary spiritual consequences in Zion, including more vocations to the priesthood. Where, then, is there any controversy?"

"Your Holiness, you are certainly aware that both those children entered monasteries in Caledonia, and led pious lives there. Brother Ludwig died some years after Chespa Bay, thanking the Infinity that we had been spared from his wrath, but Sister Anna still lives, and is now the Mother Counsellor of a convent in her home town of Issachar."

"Good for her, Diaz," the Pontiff replied. "We need more men and women of prayer, in this degenerate age where only violent deeds and material wealth are valued."

"As you well know, Sister Anna received two further messages from Saint Geraud – one during her novitiate, and one when she was assigned to a hospital in Caledonia. The first message was a warning that if men did not repent, they would be judged and punished eternally by the Infinity."

"Sound doctrine, that," Pious said, with a calm look that infuriated his interlocutor.

"However, the second message – after discussion with her spiritual director, and then the Archbishop of Caledonia – was sent to your esteemed predecessor, Pontiff Jerome XV. He gave orders that this message should be sealed until an opportune time, as it was not meant for public consumption."

"Exactly. My immediate predecessor, Augustus VIII, released that prophecy in C.Y. 288 in a Pontifical Letter, along with a full explanation – it spoke of the oppression of our faith in a foreign land, and of apostasies on the part of the Emperor. With the Varald intensifying their persecution of our Church, and a Varaldian - Nikolai Miller – elected as President of the Commonwealth, the first part was self-evident. The second part was an allusion to Charlemagne's treacherous conduct towards the Galvenians, when he annexed Darington. Sister Anna accompanied Augustus to Caledonia when the Letter was released, and confirmed his words. There is nothing new in all this, Diaz. Why do you bring it up?"

"Your Holiness, there are many who are not satisfied with the late Pontiff's words. They claim that the incidents alluded to in his Pontifical Letter are trivial, and do not match the seriousness of Saint Geraud's Prophecy."

"Tell them to spend a few days in Varaldia, then," Pious XXI joked. "They might just change their minds."

"Your Holiness, if that was all there is to the matter, I would not be standing before you," Diaz said stiffly. "The truth is that this view – that Augustus concealed the truth – is gaining ground in Zion, and even in the Republic and among our few followers in Galvenia. Wild stories are being spread about an upcoming world war, a divine punishment, and the rise of a virtuous ruler – a second Geraud – who will save the world from total devastation. Further, it is alleged that the woman who accompanied the Pontiff was an impostor, and that the real Sister Anna has either been murdered or detained in a hidden location, to keep the truth from being revealed."

"A pretty story, Diaz," Pious XXI said appreciatively. "It would make a fine novel. But what would you have me do?"

"Refute the rumours, Your Holiness, and announce ecclesiastical penalties for those who espouse them. We need to kill this slanderous story before it does more harm."

"But what if it is true, Diaz?" Pious XXI said, with an expression of wide-eyed innocence.

"Your Holiness!"

"I jest, Diaz, I jest. One cannot be solemn all the time. But I would be wary of imposing too harsh a punishment at this time. As you know, our Church is already a house divided, with imminent schisms of the traditionalists in Zion and the progressives in the Republic. I do not wish to force events, not with the threat of war hanging over our head."

"But what must we do, then?"

"I will condemn the rumours in a Letter of my own, Diaz, and instruct Mazarus to do the same at the Commonwealth. As for your other suggestion, it will keep."

Diaz shook his head. "Very well, Your Holiness, but –"

"Speak frankly, Diaz," the Pontiff said, with an encouraging nod.

"It is unwise, Your Holiness," Diaz said earnestly, "to assume that this story will go away. We live in uncertain times, and this sort of lunacy is exactly what may inflame partisan elements, both within and outside our Church. A firm hand is needed, otherwise you – like Pontiff Augustus – may be accused of conspiracy."

"Accusations do not bother me, Diaz," Pious XXI replied. "Do as I say, and trust in the Infinity."

"Very well, Your Holiness," Diaz replied, though he was clearly unsatisfied.

**xxx**

"Before we proceed any further, Mr. Tamas," Silas Trask said, leaning forwards across the desk, "let me remind you that this is a sensitive mission. We regret that Mr. Spenson has refused to assist us, and that Mr. Eramond is indisposed – but we trust that, in recommending you, Mr. Spenson has not erred."

"Hey, hey, you know what they say, Trasky," Armin Tamas replied with a wink. "The friends of my friends are my friends, too!"

"Very amusing, Mr. Tamas." Trask sighed. "So have you understood what you must do now?"

"Yep, I do! You said this Kodenai dude was involved in sabotage at Mount Lorea Mine, but you don't want me to go there. Now why's that?"

"Mount Lorea Mine is a dangerous place, Mr. Tamas, and we have trained men searching there already. We want you to see if you can find any more information at Kodenai and Talmadge's home. Talmadge insists that he had nothing to do with treason, but looked the other way because Kodenai helped him with his crime racket in Glendale. Inspector Bosley of Glendale agrees – he feels that Talmadge is too stupid to be involved in espionage, while Kodenai, who left the army under a cloud, is a more likely suspect. I want you to search their mansion again, and report back to me as soon as you're done. Is that clear?"

"You got it, dude," Armin replied, tipping his cap at the Palace officer. "What's in it for me, though?"

"Ah, the mercenary instincts of the working class," Trask replied, with a laugh. "Well, I came from that same class, so I mustn't be too censorious. All the same, as an older man, it's my duty to keep an eye on your conduct and morals. Haven't your parents taught you that you should serve Galvenia without looking for profit?"

"You haven't heard of my _dad_, have you?" Armin said darkly. "He packed up and left home when I was a kid, and never sent a word to Mom thereafter. Compared to _him_, Trasky, I'm a pillar of morality!"

"My sympathies, Mr. Tamas," Trask said kindly. "All the same, Prime Minister Socius is no ingrate. I have been instructed to offer you one thousand Galvenian dollars for this mission – and another thousand if you do find anything of note. Is that satisfactory?"

"On those terms, Trasky," Armin said, shaking the officer's hand vigorously, "I'd even vote for Socius if you told me to!"

**xxx**

"Now, Carranya, remember. Honesty cleanses the soul, and covers over many a fault. Are you sure you have told me everything?"

Princess Carranya, leaning against the head of her bed, closed her eyes and dabbed at them with her handkerchief. "Yes, Father," she replied, "I have."

"And you realize, do you not, how foolish you have been?"

"Yes, Father," she replied, shaking her head. "I was wrong to endanger my life in such a way…"

"Not only that, Carranya. To accept the help of a stranger – to exchange intimacies with him, even if they seem harmless – this, my child, is not the way of righteousness. Sincere repentance will go a long way towards repairing your fault."

"But he did nothing wrong," Carranya pleaded. "I would probably be dead if he had not helped me."

"Better a virtuous death than a worldly life, child. Now, Carranya, do not try the patience of the Infinity. Do you repent?"

"Yes, Father," she said, and began to weep. "I –"

We will never know what Carranya would have said next, for the door to her bedchamber was flung open, and a man strode in, laughing to himself.

"My daughter! Well, it is good to have you back, though you did give some of us a scare…."

"Your Majesty!" the other man in the room exclaimed.

King Arlbert's face darkened, and he strode over to his daughter's bedside, glaring at the man beside her. "Carranya, who is this man?"

"Father," she said falteringly, "surely you know Father Eugene Thomssen, who is Mother's spiritual advisor and mine as well…"

"Spiritual advisor?" Arlbert snorted. "What kind of spiritual advisor would make a young girl weep in this way? What have you been telling my daughter, Thomssen?"

"Your Majesty…" the clergyman began.

Arlbert did not wait for the rest of the reply, but seized him by the lapels of his black suit. "Now listen to me, you Baron Snake. I know you don't think a lot of me, and let me assure you the feeling is mutual. You are free to use your forked tongue to say whatever you please about me. But the minute you make my daughter cry, Reverend, you have crossed a very dangerous line."

"Father, it wasn't…" Carranya pleaded, trying desperately to smile.

"Be quiet, Carranya. As your father, it is my duty to protect you from all harm, especially from things that would break your spirit. One day, you will be Queen!" He laughed at the thought, without loosening his grip on Thomssen's suit. "It is not meet for a Queen to grovel before a commoner – especially an ugly little worm like this one. Tell me, Thomssen" – he brought his face close to the priest – "is it true that you became a priest because no woman, not even in the Lorean Asylum, was fool enough to marry you?"

"Your Majesty, when you mistreat me, you are mistreating a man of God," Thomssen said, his face twitching with fear. "I beg you to…"

"Yes, that's the spirit!" Arlbert roared, hurling the priest to his knees. "You should be begging, not me. Not my child. Now get out of here before you leave at the point of my shoe."

"Your Majesty…"

"Out!" Arlbert bellowed, raising his fist, and the Reverend Eugene Thomssen needed no further encouragement. He scurried out of the room, muttering to himself angrily.

"Carranya, my child," Arlbert said more gently, as he placed his arm around her, "what was that man saying to you?"

"Nothing, Father," Carranya replied, leaning against his broad shoulder and weeping silently, as he continued to look balefully at the open door through which Thomssen had left.

**xxx**

_Grandpa,_ Ryan thought, as he lay in his own bed for the first time in almost a month, _I hope I'm making the right decision. I'm not expecting it to be easy. I just wonder if I'm doing it for the right reason._

As he went through the slow process of his convalescence, the war drums were being beaten all over Galvenia. King Arlbert had signed – much against his will, and largely thanks to the persuasion of Socius and Sheffield – a treaty of alliance with the Zion, following two abortive skirmishes at the Zion-Varald border. Galvenian troops were already being deployed to Darington to join the Zion forces, while a flotilla of the Royal Marines had begun to circumnavigate the Arlia coast, aiming to protect the waters that separated the Zion Empire from the Varald Republic. A draft had not yet been announced, but was imminent according to the newspapers. Even Socius' greatest enemies – the Pragmatic Conservatives – had sided with him on the need to stand with the Zion.

_I'm ready to serve the way you did, Grandpa, even if I remain with the Galvenian Army and not the Commonwealth Forces. But I must be honest with myself. I'm doing this for our country, yes. But also for her._

_For Carranya._

There are moments in the lives of men when, suddenly, a transition is made from childhood to adulthood. At those times, things that once seemed important to them suddenly recede from their view, to be replaced by newer, loftier, and perhaps more dangerous goals.

If an enterprising journalist had interviewed Ryan Eramond the day before he boarded the _Paradiso_, and asked him – in the strictest confidence – what was the thing he secretly most wished for, he would probably have answered: "To be reconciled with my girlfriend, Marianne, though she's the one who wronged me. And to have a clear idea about what to do with the rest of my life."

Today, the first of those things seemed strangely unimportant to him – and he had an answer to the second. And being of a frank nature, he realized that the two were now inextricably connected.

_Serve Galvenia._

_Serve Carranya._

_Because it is impossible for me to be with her, in the way I was during those two days. It's impossible,no matter what I want – or, for that matter, what she wants. Let me at least be of service to her. No one matters more to me right now – not even Marianne._

"Ryan!" Sheila Eramond said, a bright smile on her face, as she entered his room with a breakfast tray. "Good morning, Ryan! I'm glad to see you up a little early today. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough, Mum," Ryan said, forcing himself out of his reverie. "I've just been thinking about, um, a few things."

"I'm glad to hear that, Ryan," his mother replied. "Doctor Dubois warned us that you might have, uh, bad dreams about what happened on the ship…"

"Heck, I do, Mum," Ryan admitted. "But that's not what really bothers me now."

"All your friends have been waiting to see you, Ryan," Sheila said kindly. "Lavie's been here every day, and so has Armin. Henrik's also stopped by a couple of times, though he must be quite busy studying, poor boy. His father's keeping his nose to the grindstone, so I've heard! And Marianne left a note for you, if you want it."

"Bother Lavie and Marianne," Ryan said, impatiently. "Though I suppose I will have to reassure them that I'm all right, I guess. And Henrik – what does he want around here?" He scowled.

"What's the matter, Ryan?" Sheila asked, concerned at the brusqueness of his reply.

"Oh, it's nothing serious, Mum," Ryan said slowly. "Henrik and I had – a disagreement before I left on that ship, that's all."

"Now, Ryan, I think you should make up all those old quarrels, whatever they are," Sheila said, as she poured out a cup of tea for him. "After all, it's a miracle that you're alive! And I am so glad to have you here again…" Her voice grew unsteady.

"Hey, Mum, don't cry," Ryan replied affectionately. "I guess miracles do happen every now and then."

"Well, as Barbara Spenson used to say, God helps those who will, one day, deserve that help," Sheila replied, patting him on the head. "Now enjoy your breakfast, dear, and once you've done, please go down to your father's study. He's eager to talk to you."

"Sure thing, Mum. Thanks again," Ryan said, as Sheila rose and left, singing to herself happily as she did so.

Ryan rolled his eyes. _Mum enjoys doing so many things, even if she doesn't do them particularly well – singing and cooking being foremost. _However, on this occasion, even he had to admit that his mother had outdone herself, and he enjoyed his meal.

Leaning back against the pillow with a sigh of satisfaction, he looked around at his room, which seemed to him both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time.

_This is my home,_ Ryan thought. _This is where I was born. This is where my family lives. This is where I belong. And yet…_ - the thought came to him, and he could not suppress it - _…this isn't my home any more. Not after what I have seen, not after what I have lived through, and not after what I know now. My home is by her side._

He shook his head, trying to dispel the dangerous idea, but to no avail.

**xxx**


	4. Chapter 3: Knowledge

**CHAPTER THREE**  
_**Knowledge**_

**COUNCIL OF VICEROYS **– …._Though lacking the parliamentary form of Government seen in Galvenia, the Council is the Zion Empire's nearest equivalent. It consists simply of the twenty-four Viceroys appointed by the Emperor to administer his territories and dependencies, and is headed by a Chairman, elected by the members themselves and serving for a term of four years, if this is not preceded by the Chairman's death or removal by the Emperor. Though largely a ceremonial body, the Council has played an important role in ruling Zion following the sudden death of its Emperors, such as Johan II (q.v.). Its importance increased dramatically following the events of the Terran War…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"All things considered," Noah Ibrahim of Fulton observed, as he and his new classmates sat at one of the tables at the King's College cafeteria, "we are lucky, aren't we?"

"Lucky to have cleared the entrance test? You can say that again," Henrik Spenson said, with a nod of agreement. "If I hadn't made it, Father would never have let me hear the end of it." He laughed.

"I must confess that, despite trusting in the guidance of the Infinity, I was rather nervous myself," Brother Ivan Kasprowicz said, smoothing down his luxuriant beard. Though of Varald parentage, he spoke impeccable Common, with only a slight accent. "Though the Church of the Infinity has been generous, I doubt they would have been too pleased with a low score. Now, thank God, I can actually study philosophy at one of Terra's best universities."

"Not to forget that you miss out on the draft, Henrik," Noah said teasingly. "Were you going to sign up, anyhow?"

"Well, my friend Ryan did, but Dad would never hear of it," Henrik replied, closing his eyes. "Besides, many analysts say the war won't last long; the fact that the Zion accepted Hipper's presidency means that the current conflict is just a ploy, a test of strength."

"To what end, Brother Henrik?" Ivan asked.

"For the Zion – to test their new weapons, and also to assure themselves of _our_ loyalty," Henrik replied. "And for the Varald – to send a message to Itaria, who are probably their true target. Kievan is the most militaristic ruler that the Directorate has seen in decades, but even he isn't fool enough to pick a fight with the Zion."

"There are interesting rumours about Charlemagne, the Zion Emperor, being ill," Ibrahim said, leaning forward. "He hasn't made too many public appearances in the last decade, and Wilhelm's death couldn't have helped. If he is weak, then Kievan will be slavering at the lips for a chance to strike soon."

"Er, excuse me," a soft-spoken voice said, interrupting this learned discussion. "Henrik, would you mind if I join you guys?"

Henrik, surprised, turned around to face a blonde young woman, blushing with embarrassment, and wearing a green coat and skirt that were obviously new. In one hand, she was carrying a suitcase which was far too heavy for her to handle alone.

"Viola?" He shook his head. "What brings you here to King's College?"

"I'm sorry I'm late," Viola Benise said breathlessly, as Ivan chivalrously offered her a seat and helped her find a resting-place for her suitcase. "My paperwork got all mixed up thanks to an error in Mayor Saunders' office, but the College staff were very kind, and aren't asking me to pay any sort of penalty. So here I am!"

"Are you a fellow freshman, then?" Noah said, with a grin.

"I'm afraid so," Viola replied. "All thanks to Prime Minister Socius, who announced a scholarship this year for the children of Galvenian servicemen who died in the line of duty."

"Hmm, I've heard of that," Henrik said, holding out his hand to her. "So you're the 'chosen one' this year, then? Congratulations!"

"Oh, thank you, Henrik," Viola replied, with a laugh. "They did allow me to take the entrance test yesterday, and they said I'd done well enough."

"Was your father a soldier, Miss –" Brother Ivan began.

"Viola Benise," she replied.

"I'm Ivan Kasprowicz, and I'm a candidate for the priesthood," he replied, offering her his own hand. "This is Noah Ibrahim of Fulton, who's here to study political science. And I see that you already know our resident genius…."

"Very funny, Kasprowicz," Henrik replied. "Don't mind them, Viola, they're just kidding around."

"Anyway, Mr. Kasprowicz, Daddy wasn't a soldier. He was a sailor with the Royal Navy, and his boat went down defending a merchant ship from a pirate attack, three years ago. That's – why I'm here, I guess."

"My condolences, Miss Benise," Ivan replied, his hand instinctively touching the medallion of Saint Geraud that hung from his neck. "So what will you be majoring in?"

"Literature, certainly," Viola replied, grateful for the change in topic. "I've always dreamed of being a writer, but if I can't do that, at least I can study fine writing!"

"That's an interesting topic, certainly," Noah said. Privately, he found literature a crashing bore, but personable young Galvenian women interested him. "By the way, Spenson, what are _you_ opting for?"

"Hmm, can't say, old chap," Henrik replied, then looked up at the clock. "Goodness, it's almost closing time here, and we ought to get back to our dorms – the Dean's going to address us all tomorrow! Can I help you with this, Viola?" He picked up the suitcase.

"That's nice of you, Henrik," Viola replied, colouring as the two of them rose from the table

"Oh, least I can do for a fellow resident of Davenport," Henrik said. "Now, which way is your room?"

"It's Room 421 on the east wing, that way," she answered, pointing the way with one hand. Before their companions knew it, they were out of earshot.

"Gentlemanly kid, isn't he, Brother Kasprowicz?" Noah said, with a wink.

"Well, he's a fellow Church member," Brother Ivan said loyally. "Maybe you'll think of something next time, and upstage him. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little work in the library." He bowed politely, and left.

"Very amusing, Kasprowicz," Noah retorted, as he finished his cup of coffee.

"With all due respect, Prime Minister, I think this is unwise," Sir Prescott Chuselwock protested.

"I know that as well as you do, Sir Prescott," Martell Socius apologized. "We are now four months into the war, and it seems the vaunted Zion Battalions are not what they used to be; after a month of pin-pricks, the first pitched battle has ended in a victory for the Zion and the capture of Eriksburg by the 27th Varald Division. General Tegawa and Chancellor Hunermann – who are making most of the decisions, given Charlemagne's indisposition – are both alarmed, and want some our best men to join them. The Queen personally recommended you for this task, and we have no better men than your Rough Riders. Think of it as an honour."

"The Queen?" Sir Prescott frowned. "With all due respect to Her Majesty, I suspect that the request for the Rough Riders must have come from our Zion friends themselves; she was merely being polite. She has little reason to honour _me._"

Socius laughed. "Come on now, Prescott, surely the two of you aren't beating that dead horse any more? But let us not gossip. Do you have any objections to this mission? I ask this as a fellow veteran, not as your Prime Minister."

"In military terms, absolutely none," Prescott answered proudly. "The Rough Riders will defend the honour of Galvenia and her allies, regardless of the situation. But remember what we discussed before this war began, Socius – the suspicions you shared with Trask. I am now in a position where I can confirm them, and what is more, I can give you another name."

"Give it to me before you leave, then," Socius said placatingly. "We will continue to work discreetly."

"If you wish," Sir Prescott replied, and whispered a few words in Socius' ear. Socius seemed concerned, though not shocked, and his expression turned grave.

"Are you sure of this?" Socius replied. "How could he possibly –"

"I have some ideas, Socius, and I will communicate them to you before I leave. But for now, silence. Too much knowledge can be dangerous. But now, I must leave. The new recruits are completing their basic training, and I need to review them."

"I understand, Sir Prescott," Socius said, saluting as the young Commander of the Rough Riders left his chamber.

_A spider's web_, he thought. _One strand leads to another, and to another. But the chain must end somewhere. Prescott is surely right. And when I find that end, may the Infinity help that man._

"Guard duty?" Ryan said indignantly. "You mean we went through three months of boot camp just for _this_?"

"Pipe down, kid," Sergeant Ferrars said indulgently, "and listen to some hard facts. Joining the army doesn't mean you get to be General after a week! Now, the truth of the matter is this. We've received information that enemy agents are trying some sort of monkey business in Mount Lorea Mine, in Northern Galvenia. The police combed the area twice, and found sabotaged bridges, home-made bombs, and the apparent theft of some mineral samples. Major Trask, the head of Palace Security, is concerned."

"Did you say Trask?" Ryan said, staring open-mouthed at the Sergeant.

"Son, when addressing me, it's always nice to use the word 'sir'," Ferrars replied with a wink.

"My apologies, sir," Ryan replied. "It's just that – I may know something about this, sir."

"Do you?" Ferrars looked at him appraisingly. "Well, you can tell us about it later, Eramond, but for now, I'm doing the briefing. Apparently, Trask has received a tip that someone might try to reach the mines again. Whether there's something hidden there, or whether it's just an attempt to harm our economy, is immaterial. You three – Eramond, Davies and Humphreys – will take turns guarding the entrance to that mine, until we get further orders from the Palace. You'll leave tomorrow morning. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the three men in front of Ferrars replied.

"And one more thing. We'll give you a radio, and there'll be backup waiting at Checkpoint Alpha. If you feel things are getting out of hand, don't try to be heroes – we need you in one piece, because in a couple of months, if you guys do well, we'll have you on call when the Royal Family comes to visit Davenport. Is that clear?"

_The Royal Family? That means…. _Ryan thought to himself, and grinned. "Of course, Sir," he replied.

"Good man," Ferrars replied. "Eramond, you can be team leader on this one, so don't goof off. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ryan replied enthusiastically. _I wonder if I'll get to see her soon…_

"Hunermann," General Tegawa said, walking quickly to interrupt the Chancellor as he walked away from the Emperor's chambers, "a word with you, please."

"Tegawa!" The Chancellor smiled. "What a pleasant surprise. How may I help you?"

"First, a simple question, Chancellor. How is the Emperor?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid." Hunermann shook his head. "The best physicians of Zion are puzzled. It is as if every system in his body was slowly, but inexorably, giving up the ghost. They toss diagnoses around – chronic infection, cancer, internal bleeding – without coming to any firm conclusion. Thankfully, his mind is spared."

"Let us be grateful for small mercies, then. Tell me, Chancellor – as I am busy coordinating the war effort, and may soon be called to the front…"

"So soon?" Hunermann looked aghast.

"The news from the front is hardly any better that Charlemagne's health, Chancellor," the General replied. "The Varald have now taken not only Eriksburg and its dependencies, but they have captured the garrison at Saint Johan. Our Galvenian allies have managed to intercept shipments of their weapons, but have lost some ships in the process. And while King Arlbert has been generous enough to loan us his Rough Riders, we will need more than this to fight back against the frenzied attacks of the Varald Divisions. We are trying to be as discreet as possible, but the news must break sooner or later. And given the gravity of the situation, we must be doubly sure that we are not facing internal enemies as well."

"Internal enemies?" Hunermann looked at General Tegawa with concern. "Surely –"

"How good a Church member are you, Hunermann?" Tegawa asked, with a smile.

"Middling," Hunermann answered honestly. "My wife and third son are the devout ones; the boy will probably end up a priest if he stays that way. Why do you ask?"

"I ask because I suspect that it is through the Church that our internal enemies will strike. Tell me, Hunermann, have you heard of the Sealed Prophecy of Geraud?"

Hunermann shook his head. "I set little store by such things. Geraud was a great Emperor, and the father of the Commonwealth; what he saw in his dreams matters little to me."

"Do yourself a favour, Hunermann," Tegawa replied, "and ask your wife about it. Then speak to the Archbishop of Caledonia. A storm is about to break, and while you cannot avert it, you must be prepared."

It was a clear hint, and Hunermann took it. "Thank you, Tegawa," he said, shaking hands with the General. "Have no fear, I shall see to this prophetic foolery, whatever it might be."

"Your Holiness, the Zion envoy is here," Archbishop Diaz said nervously. "Shall I send him in?"

"Well, why not?" Pontiff Pious XXI replied with a smile. "Though, if he wants troops to support him against the Varald, I can only offer prayers."

"Your Holiness, this is no time to jest!" Diaz said, irritably. "Do you not see that what I warned you about has come to pass?"

"My good Diaz, please remember that patience is one of the Seven Virtues commended to all clergymen by our saintly predecessor, Guibert V," Pious XXI replied. "Now, send the man in, and let me speak."

'The man', as the Pontiff referred to him, was dressed in all the finery of a Zion noble, and carried a sword at his belt – a clear sign of hostility, given the tradition of pacifism that everyone, even visitors, respected in Itaria City.

"Good afternoon, Your Holiness," he replied. "I am Count Kraemer, envoy of His Imperial Highness, Charlemagne III of Zion."

"Good afternoon, Count Kraemer, and may God's peace be with you," Pious XXI replied, holding out his hand for the traditional gesture of respect. Kraemer ignored it, and sat down opposite the Pontiff, his brow furrowed.

"Pontiff, the task I have is an unpleasant one, and it is not one that I have asked for," he said, almost apologetically. "But it is the decision of the Council of Viceroys, and has been ratified by the Emperor."

"You puzzle me, my good Count," Pious XXI said benevolently. "Is the Emperor ailing, that he should need the Council to make decisions for him? Normally, the Council takes an active role only when an Emperor is a minor."

"I am not at liberty to discuss that," Kraemer said, his facial expression betraying the utmost discomfort. "Instead, I will give you the Council's missive."

"Please do so," Pious XXI said, placing his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. He took the scroll that Kraemer held out to him, and read the following:

"_From the Council of Viceroys, and His Imperial Highness, Charlemagne III, Supreme Ruler of the Zion Empire and Defender of the Faith, to our brother, Pontiff Pious XXI._

_Greetings to you!_

_We need not remind you of the deep bond of brotherhood that unites our nations, a bond that has been forged in the twin crucibles of war and belief. We write to you on two matters of grave import._

_First: Given the gravity of our war with the Varald, and the predilection of this detestable nation for striking unfair blows, we undertake to station a fleet of Imperial ships, and members of the 7__th__ and 8__th__ Imperial battalions, to defend Itaria should the need arise._

_Second: We deplore the fact that your late predecessor, Augustus VIII, has been remiss in providing us with valuable knowledge related to Saint Geraud. We hope that you will remedy this situation at once, and release this information to our envoy, Count Kraemer. Failure to do so will be viewed as a hostile act._

_Yours in the name of the Infinity and in the name of the glorious Zion Empire,  
Kurt Walters, Chairman, Council of Viceroys."_

"What is your Walters referring to, Count Kraemer?" Pious XXI said, removing his glasses and shaking his head.

"I can only assume he means the prophecies that Pontiff Augustus spoke about – the visions of Sister Anna," Kraemer replied, so softly that Pious had to strain to hear him. "Many in the Council believe that Augustus…did not tell the whole truth."

"Do you not realize," Pious replied, "that accusing a Pontiff of lying on religious matters is a very grave allegation?"

"Holy Father, I know," Kraemer pleaded. "Infinity help me, I never asked for this task. Walters commanded me to carry out, on pain of losing my office as Ambassador."

"Then help me a little, Count Kraemer. Why do the Council doubt my sainted predecessor?"

"Because they believe, Your Highness, that the prophecy speaks of things that are yet to come – the defeat of the Zion Empire, world-wide devastation at the hands of the Varald, and so forth. I do not believe this myself, but I can only follow orders."

"Tell your Kurt Walters, Count Kraemer, that he may have the following answer from me: That the Church of the Infinity does not lie. That its Pontiffs are committed to telling the truth, in word and deed. That even if we have erred in interpreting a mysterious prophecy, there is no certainty that a council of laymen can do any better. And that if he chooses to view this as hostile, when it is clear that the Varald are his true enemies, he is either being willfully blind or foolish." Pious had never raised his voice during this entire monologue, but Diaz blanched at the language – which, coming from the Pontiff, was a rebuke of the sternest kind. "Is that clear, Kraemer? Tell him you tried your best to persuade me, but that I was unyielding. The blame is mine."

Count Kraemer sighed with relief. "Very well, Your Holiness. I – hoped you would answer this way, honestly. Can I have documentary proof of this statement of yours?"

"Diaz, call one of our scribes," Pious said genially. "Have him take down what I just said…"

"Your Holiness, no!" Diaz pleaded. "Do you not see? Those troops and ships…"

"Diaz, if I want hysteria, I shall pay a visit to the unfortunate souls in the Asylum at Meduno. Do as I say. Is that clear?" The smile had not left the Pontiff's face, but Diaz knew a command when he heard it.

"Very well, your Holiness," Diaz said, leaving the room slowly.

"Now please wait a little while, Count Kraemer," the Pontiff said inflappably. "Our scribes are fast, but even they will take a few minutes."

"Lieutenant Reckland?"

John Reckland – glad that, in the first wave of deployments from Galvenia, he had been spared – looked up from his desk at the guard post in Serin's Peak Naval Shipyard, and what he saw, apart from one or two details, brought a smile to his face.

_What a lovely young girl, _he thought, spending a moment or two in quiet admiration of her long chestnut hair. _I wonder what she wants with me. She looks rather distraught, though. Did she lose someone aboard that accursed Paradiso?_

"That's me, Miss," he said, tipping his cap to her. "How can I help you?"

"Lieutenant," the girl replied stumblingly, "how is – how's it like in the Army? Is it very tough? Does it – change people?"

Reckland laughed. "Good heavens, Miss, don't tell me you're thinking of signing up! We have more than enough men in the Army, the Navy and the Marines right now; in fact, though we're over half a year into this 'war', our role has been strictly limited. After the initial gains made by the Varald, the Zion have found a second wind, and right now, no side has a major advantage. Besides, the Galvenian Army only recruits women for domestic service right now."

"That's not what I meant, Lieutenant," she said, her hands trembling. "You see, there's – someone I know well, who's…"

"Sit down, Miss, if we're going to have a long conversation," Reckland said gently, handing her a chair. "And before I go any further, let me tell you that those legends of sweethearts following their men into battle are – how do I put this nicely – legends. I hope you weren't thinking of doing that!"

"I don't know what I'm thinking of doing," the girl replied sadly. "That's unusual for me, but it's how I feel. Daddy mentioned your name, and said you were one of the officers who brought the men from the _Paradiso_ back to Davenport…."

"Well, why don't you tell me your name first, Miss?" Reckland replied.

"Lavender Regale," she replied, "though everyone calls me Lavie."

"Regale? Hmm, Sigmund Regale's daughter, then? I remember Mr. Regale coming down here often to find out about that ship. He even helped us finance the rescue efforts, since one of the Zion ships bringing our men back had an engine fault, and we had to go and meet them halfway."

"That's me. Tell me – did you meet those men? In particular, a boy called Ryan Eramond?"

"Why, I know the lad," Reckland replied, with a look of approval on his face. "He did me a good turn some time ago, by helping me to find some historically important material. He was in a pretty terrible shape when we brought him in, but he recovered quite well, from what Dr. Dubois tells me. Last I heard, he signed up, and he's now doing guard duty like I am." He chuckled. "Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yes," Lavie replied, trying to hide her blushes behind her scarf.

"Oh, dear, I see," Reckland replied sympathetically. "Let me guess: he hasn't been writing to you, or something of that sort. Don't fret too much, Miss, Army life can be quite busy for newcomers! Give him some time to settle down."

"That's not it, Lieutenant," Lavie replied, feeling a lump rising in her throat. "It's just that – even when he was recovering, he didn't really want to see me, and he only did because his parents wanted him to…..and now he's gone, and I can't even tell him –"

"How you feel, perhaps?" Reckland suggested, feeling rather embarrassed himself.

"Yes, that's it….I feel like I've lost him, Lieutenant…"

"Well, have you discussed this with your family, Miss Regale?" The voice was gentle, unlike the Lieutenant's habitually clipped, military tones, and perhaps it was this that led Lavie to unburden herself.

"Things aren't easy at home, either, Lieutenant," she went on. "Daddy has….troubles, and my Gran's in the Infirmary at Davenport; she fell ill a month or so ago, and Mom has to look after her. I don't know what to do, or where to turn, anymore. God – why am I telling you all this?" She covered her face with her hands, and began to sob.

Lieutenant Reckland, like most men, disliked scenes of an emotional nature – but as at least one family in Davenport would testify, human suffering could still move him despite his years in the Army. He remained silent, looking at Lavie with concern, then helped her rise from her chair, taking hold of her hand.

"Ohmygosh, Lieutenant," Lavie said, as he handed her a large Navy handkerchief concealed up his sleeve, "I have been rather silly, haven't I? After all – it's not the end of the world, is it?"

"It happens to the best of us, Miss Regale," Reckland replied soothingly. "We all feel like that someday, I suppose, except that we show it in different ways. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Lavie replied, blushing as she spoke. "Well, I guess I'd best be on my way home, then! I'm – uh – sorry for wasting your time."

"Oh, the Galvenian Navy exists to serve its citizens, Miss Regale," Reckland said, as they shook hands. "Good fortune to you, and may the Five Angels protect you and that friend of yours."

"Good day to you, Lieutenant, and thanks for your service!" Lavie replied, with some of her customary cheer returning, as they waved goodbye. Reckland watched her recede from him, then returned to his desk.

_I wonder if the whole Regale family is going to come to me for advice,_ he thought, and the idea brought a smile to his face. _I wonder if she and Eramond will make a match of it? Somehow, I don't see him as the marrying type. Much like myself._

He chuckled. _Though I suppose it's a question of finding the right person. After all, Franz was very fond of his wife, and she's a fine lady indeed._

"Regale," Ellesimar Vryce said, calmly, "we need to act soon. The blockades imposed by this war are placing all of us in a difficult position."

"Vryce is right, Sigmund," Simeon Wright – Director of the Galvenian Chamber of Commerce – observed, folding and unfolding his hands nervously. "Frankly, Socius has disappointed us all, and even his Finance Minister, Jameson, has been pleading with him for more restraint. However, he has backed the Zion's call for extensive blockades, and has asked Lucan to vote for them at the Commonwealth."

"There is worse," Sigmund Regale said sternly, sipping his glass of brandy. "Have you heard of Charlemagne's latest jackassery in Itaria? He has sent troops and ships there, ostensibly as a prophylaxis against Varald incursions, but in truth to severely curtail trade to and from the entire continent. What is he up to?"

"I wish I knew," Jeffrey Tolbruk, Chairman of the Galvenian Royal Mining Corporation, growled, taking a sip from his own glass. "Good liquor, Sigmund, very good stuff. But really, Socius has got to be reined in. Not only is he abetting the Zion in cutting off imports, he's got his men sniffing around the mines, looking for real or imagined spies. Bah! Which self-respecting spy would hide in those wretched mines? I have a hard enough time persuading our workers to go down there!"

"Robertson, what news?" Regale said, looking at the man on his right, who was taking notes carefully, and seemed the least worried of all those present. "Have you been able to find out anything, my discreet friend?"

"Precious little, Sigmund," Alex Robertson replied, smoothing down his hair. "Apparently, Socius is collaborating with the Zion because of their role in the Princess' return, though Arlbert is quite tepid on the whole thing. Also, on the Itarian thing, this appears to be some sort of religious dispute. I've got men working on it, since I'm hardly an expert on such things."

"A religious dispute? Charlemagne is a fool," Tolbruk thundered. "His son is dead, his heir presumptive is a distant cousin, he is ill, his army is getting whacked by the Varald, and he wants to pick a quarrel with the Itarians on top of it all? Next thing we know, the Pontiff will place Zion under the interdict, as he did a thousand years ago, and they'll start panicking. And this time, he's so weak that he can't even try what the Hohenzollern imbeciles did."

"I don't think Charlemagne is the one responsible," Sigmund Regale replied calmly. "It's probably the Council of Viceroys which is calling the shots. Well, gentlemen, that is the situation in a nutshell. This war isn't harming us too much, but the blockades and the Itarian sanctions certainly will. What is to be done?"

"Let us meet Socius," Wright suggested. "He will certainly be cooperative once we remind him of how much his party, and his last electoral campaign, owe us."

"Exactly," Tolbruk said, bringing his fist down on the table. "Tell him that unless he stops backing the Zion and their monkey show, we will switch allegiance to Breckenridge and the Pragmatic Conservatives. That ought to show him."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Jeffrey," Ellesimar Vryce replied. "As the chairman of Galvenia's Guild Alliance, I can assure you that the guilds will not be happy with Breckenridge's policies. We need to knock some sense into Socius, but we must do it discreetly; he has regained much of his popularity since the war began."

"Agreed," Sigmund said. "Leave it to me. I shall send him, shall we say, a discreet message. It ought to do the trick."

"What do you have in mind, Regale?" Wright said sharply. "No funny stuff, remember. We're at war, after all."

"To deliver this message," Sigmund replied – with a steely look that his colleagues had learned, over the years, to respect – "I shall make use of Eramond Delivery Services. They are certainly efficient."

"Eramond? Sigmund, you sly dog." Wright chuckled. "That _is_ a good idea."

"I'm sorry, Ryan," Private Jim Davies said, as the medical team from Checkpoint Alpha tended to the wound in his side. "I didn't realize what the bloody chap was up to until it was too late. Ugh, that hurt."

"Never mind about that, Jim," Ryan replied, drawing his pistol. "Tell us what you saw. We can still find the intruder."

"There were two of them, both wearing cloaks," Jim replied, stifling a groan. "One of them was tall and looked a bit like you, Ryan – dark hair, blue eyes. Another had funny spiky hair, like the old Zion mercenaries, and was wearing brass knuckles. The second guy handed me a pass claiming that he was a Lieutenant in the Galvenian Army, but I wasn't fooled that easily. I challenged him, and parried his blow, but the first guy swung his sword at me. I could have sworn I'd dodged his thrust, but I suddenly found myself thrown against the wall of the cave, and bleeding." He gritted his teeth. "That's when I decided to call for help. I ought to have called earlier. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, Jim," Ryan said darkly. "If that second man is who I think he is, he has a lot to answer for. We'll be moving you out to Checkpoint Alpha, and you should be well soon enough. Mike and I will head down into the mine, and the Sergeant has sent three men from the Academy to guard the entrance."

"Stay safe, okay, Ryan?" Jim said nervously. "That weapon – I don't know what it is, but it's not an ordinary sword. It's – some kind of magic…"

"Magic or not, we're the Galvenian Army, Jim," Ryan said, as he and Mike Humphreys opened the gate that lead into the mines. "And we'll get those two, don't you doubt it!"

"Where are we going?" Makarov Juno asked, looking at the carcass of the giant worm they had just killed. "I see nothing here, save worms and broken mine carts."

"Be a little patient, boy," the tall man in the cloak replied. "My boss is eager to meet you."

"Your 'boss'?" Juno smiled. "Look, my friend, let me make one thing clear. I am here to pursue the traitors who are betraying Galvenia. My trail led to Kodenai, whom I punished without compunction, and I now seek clues as to his plans. You needed help to enter the mines, so we decided to collaborate. But Makarov Juno is no one's lackey, my good man. Is that clear?"

"My, you certainly can talk the talk, boy," the man replied. "Let's just say that he has an offer to make you, because he is impressed with your skills. Now, just climb onto this lift."

As they descended, Juno stared with amazement at the walls studded with blue and rose crystals, which reflected the light off his companion's mysterious red sword.

"Breathtaking, isn't it, Juno?" the man said. "I remember the first time the Boss had me summoned here. I reacted much the same way you did."

"Let me make one thing clear," Juno said firmly. "If your 'Boss' is involved in treachery, I shall do to him what I did to Kodenai, your help notwithstanding. Is that clear?"

"Son, you don't know the half of it – but I'll let him explain. As he's fond of saying: 'Who will betray the traitors?'" The man chuckled. As they spoke, the lift reached its destination, and they found themselves in front of a door.

"Knock, knock," the man called out, as he struck the door.

"Is that you, Jason?" a voice called out from within.

"Yes, and I've brought him, Chief," he replied. "Let us in."

A moment later, the door swung open, and Juno found himself in a room which was adorned – like the walls of the lift's shaft – with crystals of blue and pink, illuminated by the light of a large lantern. Standing near the door were two men, dressed in the black outfits of Zion mercenaries. Seated at the other end of the room was a man whom Juno, to his dismay, knew all too well.

"You?" he spat.

"Now calm down, boy," the man replied. "Jason and I believe that you can help us, and that you can help Galvenia. Listen to me, and if you do not believe what I say, you are free to go. I recommend that you wait, though, if you are truly concerned about defending our country."

Jason nodded. "Trust my brother, Juno," he replied, and at once, Juno could see the resemblance between the two men – even if the man in the seat had a harder, more world-weary face. "You have my word of honour that neither I nor my brother Jacob intend any treachery."

"Jacob? Is that another of your aliases, Lugner?" Juno muttered.

"Patience, boy," Jacob Lugner replied, rising from his chair. "In time, if you want, you will learn a great deal."

"Try me," Juno said. "But expect no mercy if you play me false."


	5. Chapter 4: Life and Death

**CHAPTER FOUR**  
_**Life and Death**_

**MAGIC **– _Despite the long association of this term with superstition and "primitive religions" such as the animism (q.v.) seen in some parts of Fulton, magic was – until recently – a legitimate subject of philosophical and scientific enquiry. Reliable historical records testify to the use of magic as a weapon in the First Zion-Varald War (q.v.), the existence of guilds of mages (cf. JOURNEYMEN, ORDER OF), and the declaration by the Itarian religion that both demonic and "natural" magic existed, and should not be confused. This latter viewpoint was strongly affirmed by Pontiff Guibert VII (q.v.) in his Pontifical Letter "On The Gifts of the Infinity", dated C.Y. 158…._

…_.In modern times, all scientific enquiry into magic has officially been stifled in Galvenia, Zion and Itaria, in accordance with the Concordat of C.Y. 307 (q.v). The reasons for this pact have been frequently debated, and are discussed in the relevant article herein. Only in Fulton does such research proceed, with particular reference to the alleged properties of certain metals, and their abilities to act as 'channels' or 'conductors' of magic…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Glorious," Makarov Juno gloated, as he thrust his sword forward again. A burst of fire surrounded his blade, and and saw the old Thorium shield literally melt before his eyes. "And, given what you have told me, I am ready to serve you, Jacob Lugner, and your brother. I do not revere the Commonwealth in the way that you do, but I now understand the truth of your mission in the mines."

"A wise decision, boy," Jacob Lugner replied, his facial features relaxing. "I am sorry that we began our relationship on the wrong foot, but you now see that we serve the same interests. The traitors in our country must be disposed off, and soon. I was on the verge of clinching Kodenai's arrest – by baiting him with a false promise – when you, ahem, interrupted me."

"It was not my intent to do so, Lugner," Juno replied.

"I know, boy, and that's why I will let bygones be bygones for now." Lugner smiled, but his face had once again taken on a hard expression. "Now listen to me, Juno. There is a man who will soon be recruited by the enemy – in fact, as we speak, they may have already approached him. In two days' time, this man will reach Serin's Peak Naval Shipyard. Their intent is to use him to harm the Royal Family. I want you to track this man down. If you can warn him and knock some sense into him, well and good. If not, Juno…"

"Yes?" Juno said expectantly.

"Show no pity, and feel no remorse," Lugner said firmly. "Do you understand?"

"Of course," Juno said, his finger caressing the hilt of his new sword. "What is the man's name?"

"Eramond," Lugner replied. "Ryan Eramond. Will you be able to remember that?"

Juno smiled. "By King Richard, Lugner," he said, "it was a fortunate day when my path crossed yours. Rest assured, I will not spare him."

_xxx_

_Archaeology or physics? What a dilemma,_ Henrik thought. _The rest of the world is worrying about war, about the trade sanctions on Itaria, and about how far Galvenia will be involved, and we College students are worrying about our majors. Perhaps we do live in an ivory tower, as Armin claims._

He closed his copy of _Physics of Radiant Energy_ with a sigh of satisfaction. _Well, I'm not exactly white feather material, but with Ryan and Armin both serving – Ryan in the Army, and Armin as an auxiliary for the Palace police – I can't help feeling a twinge of guilt every now and then. I did write to Ryan, and he did write back, but I don't think he's quite forgiven me yet. As for Juno, his mother told me he'd left to join the Special Services. I hope he and Armin don't get into fights! And someday, when I meet Ryan again, maybe I'll explain why I had to prevent him from fighting Juno. I wonder if he'll understand. His mother and father told me he'd become a lot harder – colder, even – after what he went through on that ship._

He turned off the lamp at his bedside, and got up from his chair with a sigh. _Well, I'd best call it a day. We have psychology with Professor Parker tomorrow, and he wants us to be as bright-eyed as we can! Viola certainly seems to enjoy his classes; maybe she'll choose psychology over literature. Off to bed, then!_

The scream pierced the air – a high-pitched wail of dismay and terror. "No – _no!_" it began, before continuing wordlessly.

Though not in the Army, Henrik was as much a disciple of Whitworth as Ryan, and as ready for quick action. With a flash, he reached for his sword, and dashed out into the corridor, where he was confronted with the sight of Viola Benise, leaning against a wall for support, her face pale.

"Henrik!" She ran towards him, stumbled, and he caught her. "Oh, Henrik – it's horrible, horrible! He's….dead."

"Who?" Henrik said, helping her remain upright. "What happened, Viola?"

But a quick glance forward made his question unnecessary. Leaning near the door of his room in a crumpled heap, bleeding from a wound in his chest, was their classmate, Brother Ivan Kasprowicz.

"Ivan?" Henrik rushed to where he lay, and knelt down beside him. "What happened, Ivan?"

"Henrik…." The words came with effort, and Henrik strained to listen. "You're…a good man, Henrik. Infinity bless you…"

"Who did this to you, Ivan?" Henrik said, a note of urgency in his voice.

"Mothers…can be ruthless, Henrik," he said. "I never would have believed…"

"Ivan?" His breathing was more laboured now, and his head sagged.

"Auntie…."

"Your aunt?" Henrik looked at him incredulously.

Ivan shook his head. "Pontiff…" he whispered, and then lay still. Henrik felt for his pulse, then stood up.

"He's gone, Viola," he said. "Sweet Infinity, who did this to him? And how did you find him here? We've got to inform College security at once."

By now, several more people had emerged onto the corridor, and there was a buzz of excitement. Henrik left Viola with their mutual friend, Noah Ibrahim, and ran to inform the guard on duty, who soon arrived carrying a pistol, with an incredulous look on his face.

"Stand back, all of you,"the guard said. "We'll have to call the police. Mr. Spenson and Miss Benise, please stay here. He was stabbed with a sword, poor man. And he couldn't have inflicted that wound himself, even if he'd fallen on his own sword."

"You seem to know a lot about these things," Henrik said appreciatively.

"I was in the Glendale Police for a spell before that fool Talmadge cut the law-enforcement budget," the guard explained. "Look, Spenson, why don't you just take care of the girl for a while? I'll see to things. The rest of you, scram!"

Noah and the others left, with varying degrees of alacrity, and Henrik led Viola, who was still pale and unsteady on her feet, to one of the benches in the corridor.

"Tell me, Viola," he said gently, "what were you doing here? How did you find Ivan?"

Viola blushed. "I was having trouble with the third of our physics problems," she replied, "and I thought I would come and ask you for help…" She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, then went on. "As I came down the corridor, I saw that Ivan's door was ajar, and when I looked – he was there, lying in the doorway. My God, Henrik….who could have done such a thing?"

"I don't know, Viola," Henrik said, as she leaned against him, "but this is very ugly. For years, King's College has been known as a peaceful place – though some of us do party a bit, there have never been riots, assaults or murders on this campus, ever since the days my father worked here. Now – that's no longer true."

"What did he say, Henrik?" Viola said, nodding sadly. "Did he – tell you anything?"

"He said something about mothers being ruthless. Then he began to say something about his aunt, and then he mentioned the Pontiff. He tried to say more, but…"

"His aunt?" Viola tried to smile. "Poor Ivan. He told me that his parents had died in an accident when he was little, and that his mother's sister brought him up. Perhaps he was remembering her. Just like Daddy…"

"Your father?"

"When he was shot by the pirates…the sailors told me that the last two things he mentioned were Mummy's name – and my name," Viola said, with a distant smile. "I guess Ivan felt the same way about his aunt."

"Perhaps," Henrik agreed, "but why mention the Pontiff? I know he was going to be a priest, and that the Church had sent him here to study philosophy, but still…No, Viola, there's got to be something more to it."

"But I don't understand," Viola said helplessly. "Why would anyone want to murder a gentle soul like Ivan?"

"Well, maybe the police will find out something," Henrik mused. "And if they don't, maybe I can try my hand."

"Henrik!"

"Oh, I've done a spot of detecting in my day, during the summer vacation," Henrik replied, remembering the way he and Ryan had tracked Kodenai. "And that guard seemed quite knowledgeable. We'll find something out, don't worry. And now, you ought to get back to bed."

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, really," she replied, holding out a trembling hand to him as she stood up. "Blood….So much blood…."

"Come, I'll take you back to your room, and I'll ask one of your friends to stay over with you tonight," Henrik said, in a reassuring tone. "Things will look better in the morning, you know. And may Ivan's soul rest in peace. I'll wait with you till that guy comes back, since he wanted to question us, and then I'll leave. Does that sound all right?"

"Thank you, Henrik," she said, simply, as they left together.

xxx

"And once again, I must thank you brave souls, the second wave of our contribution to the war effort," King Arlbert said genially, as the crowd of sailors and Marines cheered. "Your service will ensure that peace and freedom are once more established over Terra, and that the Varald will never again expand their territory at the expense of the men of Arlia. May the Infinity guide your sails and your swords, and may King Richard and Prince Derren watch over you."

There was a hearty round of applause, and King Arlbert turned to leave, with the Queen and Princess Carranya following silently in his train.

_What a dope,_ Ryan thought with irritation, as he and the other guards marched forward, encircling the Royal Family. _I've only been with the Royals for a week, and I already realize that the King only cares about goofing off. Poor Carranya. That mother of hers doesn't look too friendly, either. But I can't blame her, if her husband makes Armin look like an Itarian priest!_

_And it's not fair to blame him alone. Sergeant Ferrars was furious when the Palace released that guy Jason Lugner. After we took the trouble to capture him in the mines, they said they didn't have enough evidence to hold him! Moreover, both Mike and I clearly found traces of at least two other men. Something funny's happening in those mines, and I wish I knew what it was._

The procession ended at Mayor Saunders' home, where the perennially dozy Mayor of Davenport had – with some reluctance, and some financial aid from the Regales – been persuaded to extend his hospitality to the King. A small, elite group of guards remained to ensure the Royal Family's safety, while the rest of the soldiers – Ryan included – returned to Serin's Peak, where they were accommodated in comfortable, if somewhat cramped barracks.

"Hey, did you see this, Ryan?" Jim Davies said, handing him a newspaper as they sat on their bunks after the curfew. "Murder at King's College. This world is a dangerous place."

"King's College?" Ryan drew in his breath sharply. "Let me see that, Jim."

"Curious, are you?" Jim grinned. "Here, take a look."

Ryan scanned the article quickly. "Hmm…seminarian of Varald origin found stabbed late in the evening….body found by two other students – Good God!" he exclaimed. "Henrik? Viola?"

"Friends of yours?" Jim said.

"They're both from Davenport," Ryan explained, closing his eyes. "Henrik's, um, an old friend of mine. What on Terra is happening these days?"

"Don't know, old chap," Jim replied. "Don't know about you, but I'm calling it a day. We have to babysit the Royals for their visit to Westchester, and I'm not very strong on sea journeys, even if they're short ones!"

"Landlubber," Mike Humphreys teased. "But your idea's a good one, Jim. Good night, Ryan."

It was a little later, as Ryan lay in his bunk trying to fall asleep, that he heard the sound of footsteps, followed by the sight of a piece of paper being slipped under the door. He waited until the footsteps had receded, then got out of bed quietly, picking up the paper. Unfolding it, he read the following:

_Ryan, please come down to Davenport Beach in the next half-hour. There's something important you must know._

The note was printed in capitals, though the hand was elegant and slanting forwards. He did not recognize it.

_Maybe this is something to do with Mount Lorea Mine, _he wondered. _I should tell someone before going down there, though._

He walked down to the next room, where Sergeant Ferrars was still awake, reading a book, and showed him the note.

"Hmm," the Sergeant said, reading through it carefully and handing it back. "Do you think this might have something to do with our adventure at the mine?"

"Perhaps, sir," Ryan replied. "At any rate, given that the Royal Family is here, we need to follow any leads. Perhaps it's some sort of anonymous information."

"It could also be a trap, son," Ferrars replied. "I remember you telling me about your earlier adventure in the mine, and that boy Juno. I know a thing or two about his history, and it wouldn't surprise me if he'd decided to turn traitor."

"Really, sir?" Ryan whispered.

"I'll tell you about it some other day, Ryan," Ferrars replied. "Now, if you want to go down there, I'm not preventing you. I always admire initiative in my men. But do you want backup?"

"Tell you what, sir," Ryan said, his hand going to the butt of his revolver. "If I'm not back in half an hour, send someone after me."

"I don't like the look of this, Ryan," the Sergeant said, "but I trust your judgment. Good luck, boy."

"Thank you, sir," Ryan said, as he left the barracks and began to walk towards Davenport Beach.

xxx

_He won't come._

The girl shook her head. It was a moonlit autumn night, and her thin clothing offered little protection against the chill. She drew her cloak around her more closely, and waited, looking expectantly at the water – when, suddenly, she heard him.

"Stop!" Ryan said, drawing his pistol as he looked at the cloaked figure which had. "Don't move any further. Raise your hands above your head, drop any weapon you have, and come over here. I'm not falling for any tricks."

The girl turned around, lowered the hood of her cloak, and Ryan gasped.

"You?" he exclaimed.

Princess Carranya smiled. "I'm glad you came here, Ryan," she said, as he hurried down the path to join her. "I had to – warn you, somehow."

"Warn me, Princess?" he said, a look of disbelief on his face. "What on Terra for? By King Richard, it's good to see you again, even if we're not play-acting this time."

Carranya blushed. "I feel the same way, Ryan," she replied, "and yet – I think you know, as well as I do, that things have changed."

"Have they?" Ryan said. "Princess, what is this all about?"

"Ryan….I don't know how to tell you this, but there's something wrong about this whole war. Even though Father and the Prime Minister don't tell me much, I've been hearing things about the Zion, and their Council of Viceroys. Our army may be putting itself in terrible danger by supporting them."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain, Ryan, but first, I have some bad news for you. Following my attempt to reach the Emperor, Mother and Father have decided that it is unwise for me to – remain unattached any longer," she said, bowing her head. A tear rolled down one cheek, and Ryan instinctively wiped it away with his glove.

"You mean –" Ryan began, feeling a sudden chill.

"The Prime Minister agrees, especially since the succession of the Lionheart dynasty has to be ensured. He feels that both my life, and that of my father, will be in danger if this war lasts another year. In four months, I will marry the young Duke of Marksmith, in a ceremony that will be held in the Hall of Heroes at Lorean."

"No!" Ryan exclaimed, involuntarily.

"I'm sorry, Ryan…." Carranya said brokenly. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. You know that I – you know, don't you?" She hid her face in her hands.

Ryan clenched his fist. "It may surprise you, Princess, but I feel the same way," he said, looking out at the sea with a dazed expression. "But if that's what being the Princess entails, I suppose – we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"Ryan…" Carranya held out her hand, and he took it. "Do you remember when we were on the _Paradiso_, just before – those pirates attacked?"

"Yeah, I remember," Ryan said gently, squeezing her hand. "You were about to tell me something. What was it, Carranya?"

"Ryan, I'm – not the person you think I am," Carranya said, in a voice filled with remorse. "If certain things hadn't happened, I promise that I would ask you to – to stay with me, and I would take the risks. But – there's something wrong with me, Ryan. I don't have the right to ask you, or any man, to do that for my sake. I don't deserve it…." Another tear rolled silently down her cheek.

"Carranya," Ryan said kindly, "don't ever say that about yourself, okay? Look, nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes. What is it? Another guy? Someone who cheated on you? Those things are a part of life, you know. Heck, I've pretty much forgotten about Marianne, ever since I met…"

"Don't say it, Ryan," Carranya replied, trembling from head to foot. "Please, if you care for me, forget what I just said. Instead, let me explain why I suspect the Zion. Look at this." She drew an object from within the folds of her dress, and held it in her other hand. It glowed green in the moonlight.

"A Memory Crystal?" Ryan said, surprised. "What does it show, Carranya?"

"I will sh…."

It happened faster than either of them could realize – absorbed as they were in each other. A man in a dark cloak swept down on them from behind, and lashed at the Memory Crystal with a sword, its blade glowing red as if it had just been forged in the furnace. The Crystal shattered, and Carranya screamed.

"What the – Who the hell are you?" Ryan swore.

"Filthy traitor," the voice hissed. "You will not hand over your secrets to this wretch. Die, Varald wench!" He thrust at Carranya with his sword, and before Ryan could react, the blade slashed against her cloak, setting her attire on fire. With reflexes honed by months of training and duty, Ryan covered the flames with his own cloak, then thrust her into the sea nearby, quenching the fire.

"And now, take this, you murderer!" he cried out, drawing his pistol and firing it at the cloaked man – who, in turn, slashed again with his sword. His blade burst into flame, wounding Ryan in the leg, but Ryan had the time to fire before that, and the man fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. He would have fired again, despite the pain he felt, but Carranya's cries drew him away.

"Carranya!" He rushed to the waterline, and helped her stand. Her neck and shoulders were badly blistered, and her cloak was half burned away. "Damn it, who was that…"

Too late, he turned back, only to see that the man had crawled away into a waiting boat, which was being rowed by another man in a cloak. He fired once, then again, but the boat moved away, receding into the horizon.

"Ryan…" Carranya stammered, lying at his feet and overwhelmed by the chill of her now-drenched clothing, as well as the pain of her wounds. "Ryan – once again, you've saved me…."

"Shhh, Carranya, it's all right," Ryan said, looking at the footpath, where three of his fellow soldiers were now approaching, their rifles drawn. "I've taken care of that assassin, and I've given him a little bullet to remember him by. You'll be all right. Come, we'll get you back to the Mayor's house, or to the hospital."

Carranya smiled as he lifted her up, then lost consciousness.

xxx

"Congratulations, boy," John Reckland said, as he entered Ryan's room in the Naval Hospital at Davenport. "You're a hero again, or so it seems."

"Very funny, Lieutenant Reckland," Ryan said, sitting up in bed. His shin-bone was now mending, but his mind was still troubled. "Hard to believe I've been here a week now, really."

"You'll receive a Medal of Valour from the King himself around St. Mikhail's Day, rumour has it," Reckland went on, "not to mention an instant promotion to Lance-Corporal. But I'm afraid I've brought an unwelcome visitor for you today."

"Not Lavie, I hope," Ryan said, with a frown. "She'd probably turn on the water-works, throw a tantrum, or do something silly of that sort. Why can't she understand that, when you're in the Army, getting hurt isn't that big a deal?"

"Ryan," Reckland said firmly, "it's not nice of you to speak that way about Miss Regale. After all, she is a loyal friend of yours, and she can't help being concerned. Women are like that. Heck, my late mother was."

"Lavie isn't my mum," Ryan quipped. "So who's the guest, if it isn't Lavie?"

"Good morning, Mr. Eramond," Silas Trask replied, entering the room quietly. "John, could you leave us alone for a moment?"

"Of course, sir," Reckland said, saluting and leaving. "Have a nice time, Ryan."

"Good morning, Officer Trask," Ryan said. "What's going on?"

"First of all, I must thank you, Mr. Eramond," Trask said. "Ferrars has told me the whole story, and your actions have clearly saved the life of the Princess."

"Who sent me that note?" Ryan asked.

"Ah, we're still at a loss on that one, Mr. Eramond," Trask replied. "The Princess denies writing it, of course, and that was never a serious possibility – why should she voluntarily lead you both into an ambush? Instead, she claims she received a note asking her to come to the beach at around the same time. And it's in connection with that note that I have to interrogate you. But first, tell me this: what exactly happened at the beach? Apart from Carranya, you are our only eye-witness."

Omitting only the middle portion of their conversation, Ryan told Trask every detail of what had happened. Trask nodded, as if Ryan's story confirmed some suspicion of his own, then closed his eyes.

"Just as we thought, Mr. Eramond. You say the weapon glowed red, didn't you?"

"It seemed to burst into flame, like the swords on display in the Military Museum at Lorean," Ryan replied, recalling the visit he had paid there with his two friends. _How far away that seems._

"We also found marks of a small boat having been docked near the shore, and there were the footprints of two men, who were probably hiding near one of the kiosks at the beach," Trask went on. "So your story is confirmed in its essentials. It's a pity about that Memory Crystal, though. We've asked the Princess what was on it, but she's still in a state of shock, and she's being tended to by her spiritual advisor, Father Thomssen."

"Poor Princess," Ryan said. "She received quite a bad burn."

"Hmm." Trask leaned closer, and fixed a steady, disconcerting gaze on Ryan. "Mr. Eramond, when we asked the Princess why she was at the beach, she said she received a note from you, asking her to meet you there."

"From _me_?" Ryan exclaimed. "That's impossible!"

"Strangely enough, I believe you, Mr. Eramond. We compared the note she received with the anonymous one you showed Ferrars, and the writing on both is the same. Obviously, someone wanted to harm you both, and decoyed you there. The question is, who?"

"Judging by the words that lunatic spoke, it was someone who thought we were traitors," Ryan replied. "But that doesn't make sense. I'm no traitor, and Carranya – er, I mean the Princess – certainly couldn't be one either!"

"Most probably, they wanted that Memory Crystal." For the first time in their conversation, Trask seemed embarrassed. "But tell me, Mr. Eramond – why should the Princess come running at the sound of your name? Heavens, I sound like a lady novelist there." He chuckled. "Could you answer that for me?"

Ryan, his face flushed, spoke slowly. "You see, Officer Trask – when I met Carranya on board that ship, we had to keep up the pretense of being, um, friends – for her own safety. But after a time, it was clear that she wasn't pretending – she was lonely, and just wanted someone to talk to. I know we only spent a day together, and I know this sounds absurd, but….we did grow quite close, during the course of that day…"

"Oh, spare me the blushes, Mr. Eramond," Trask raised his hand in protest. "Now, unlike certain fine folks at the Palace, I trust the Princess – she is not like her rake of a father, and if she was, ahem, affectionate towards you, it was merely the natural impulse of a generous and unhappy heart. And, given your conduct and record, I see no reason not to trust you."

"Thank you, Officer," Ryan replied.

"That answers my question. But if I may give you a word of kindly advice – as an older man, and one who has seen the Royal Family at close quarters: she is not for you, Eramond. As a man and a fellow servant of Galvenia, I would be delighted if a daughter of mine were to choose you over an effete buffoon like Marksmith. But she is the future Queen, Eramond, and you must never allow yourself to forget that. Serve her and defend her with your life, but do not allow your feelings to get the better of you. Do you understand?"

Ryan nodded reluctantly. "I – understand what you mean, sir. I won't do anything reckless."

"Excellent," Trask replied, without much enthusiasm – for he was no fan of Marksmith, nor of the political manoeuvres that had led to his selection as the presumptive Prince Consort. "About the other things, Eramond, _silence_. Do your duty, and if we need you to look into this matter in future, we will call you. For now, leave it to us, and to the Intelligence Service. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, Officer," Ryan replied.

"Then good day, Mr. Eramond, and I wish you a speedy recovery."

Trask left the room quietly, leaving Ryan alone with his thoughts.

_Carranya….no, not that. Anything but that…_

_xxx_

Saint Mikhail's Day!

To Itarian churchmen, it was a day to commemorate the martyrdom of one of their most beloved sons, and one of the noblest men to arise from the Directorate of Varaldia.

To the men of Varald, it was a day when their security forces – the _Geheimpol_ – were doubly on the alert, to crack down on any foolish demonstrations or insurrections in defence of the Itarian religion or the Zion monarchy.

To the men of the Zion Empire, already scared by the turn their war with the Varald was taking – the ships of the Zion fleet had suffered a humiliating defeat in a recent skirmish with the Varald, and had to be rescued by a Galvenian flotilla - it was a welcome respite, an occasion to snatch a few moments of celebration and good cheer.

To those of Galvenia and Fulton, less affected by the war, it was a moment to indulge in the commercial pleasures that only an industrialized civilization could afford – and to eat well, besides.

But for Martell Socius, Premier of Galvenia, the day had begun badly – and it would soon get worse.

"Martell?" Sarah Socius said, looking at him with concern. He was seated at the desk in his study, an open parcel in front of him, and looking deeply displeased. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Sarah," Socius replied, holding up a small glass sphere about the size of a paperweight. "Some crank has sent me a threatening message, that's all."

"A threatening message?" Sarah picked up the globe and tapped it with her finger. A deep, pleasant voice began to issue from it:

"_Socius, enough. Do you not realize that your policies are harming some of your closest allies? Remember what you owe to us, Socius. If you curb your mindless support for the Zion blockades, we will always be grateful. If not, remember that a good reputation is easily lost, and recovered only with difficulty."_

The globe flashed a deep green, and then there was silence.

"Cranks," Sarah remarked, soothingly. "Is there any substance to it, Martell?"

"Nothing that you don't already know, Sarah," Socius replied. "It's childish, really. And I know 'who done it', as the detectives say."

"Really?" Sarah smiled, and took his hand. "And what has my clever husband found out?"

"Oh, it's nothing clever. Judging by the tone of voice – which is very familiar – and the mention of the blockades, I'd say this is the handiwork of the Fletcher Council."

"The Fletcher Council? I've heard of them," Sarah replied; before her marriage to Socius, she had worked as a journalist. "Aren't they a group of international corporations and their allies, named after Edward Fletcher, the former Finance Minister of Galvenia?"

"Exactly, Sarah. This little St. Mikhail's Day present must be from my dear old friend Sigmund Regale. And, like everything Sigmund does these days, I'm going to ignore it. The man is an alcoholic, and I feel for his wife and daughter."

"Poor Emily," Sarah said sympathetically. "She's told me about his, um, little problem with the bottle."

"Daddy!" a cheerful voice called out, breaking in on their discussion. "Look what Saint Mikhail brought me! Isn't it beautiful?"

Socius smiled and gathered Violet, his youngest daughter, into his arms. "What a beautiful doll that is, Violet. It looks just like your mother, doesn't it?"

Violet giggled. "Sort of, Daddy!" she replied, and began to dance happily around her father.

"Very funny, Martell," Sarah replied, with a laugh. "Now, come on out and join the rest of the children, darling. I've got a St. Mikhail's Day lunch to see to, before that press conference you have in the evening!"

"Don't remind me, dear," Socius groaned.

xxx

"You are a fool, Juno," Jacob Lugner said, though his voice was calm. "Really, I wonder if I was mistaken about you."

"I did put Eramond out of action, and destroy that infernal device, just as you said," Juno replied coolly. "I do not see how I could have done better."

"For starters, did you not recognize the Crown Princess of Galvenia? I know the Army often speaks of 'friendly fire', but harming her will have serious repercussions, even though I doubt they will ever find us," Lugner said darkly.

"She was cloaked, and she was handing the Memory Crystal to Eramond," Juno retorted, "just as you said. For all you know, she could be the traitor you seek."

"Impossible, Juno," Lugner said, a little more gently. "While there is certainly treachery in the Palace, Carranya is not the guilty party."

"Well, then, perhaps you will honour me with a little more information," Juno said, closing his eyes. "So far, I have obeyed your orders unconditionally, and I have accomplished our first mission. I think I deserve to know what is going on."

"Very well, let me cut a long story short. About two years ago, my superiors in the Intelligence Service received information of a conspiracy between the Zion Empire and traitors in Galvenia. Their plan was to launch a Zion-Varald war, to commit Galvenia irrevocably to that war – and to use that war as a pretext to increase Zion presence in Galvenia. Their ultimate aim is the overthrow of the Galvenian government, and the installation of a puppet ruler – perhaps a distant relative of the half-dead Charlemagne – as Arlbert's successor."

"That does not make sense, Lugner," Juno said, with a frown. "Why seek such a roundabout means to an end? Why not strike us directly, as Charlemagne did at Darington?"

"Juno, my boy, you have a lot to learn about international politics," Lugner replied, shaking his head forcefully. "The Zion and the Varald have been at loggerheads for centuries, and with the weakening of the Commonwealth after Chespa Bay, those tensions have come to the forefront. Unfortunately, Socius does not fully realize this, even after being briefed by my superiors. He still sees the Zion as our allies. He does not realize that the venal Council of Viceroys, which has grown stronger with Charlemagne's physical decline, is now actively collaborating with those elements in Galvenia who wish to see the Empire reunited."

"And, as you told me earlier, these elements are also smuggling mineral deposits to Zion, for them to forge more powerful instruments of magic." Juno nodded. "It all makes sense. But what more can we do? Destroying the Memory Crystal may have set them back, but it will hardly stop them."

"Wait a little, Juno," Lugner replied. "For now, I want you to travel south to Straukpass, where Jason will wait for you in a cave. There is a little work involving minerals that you need to help him with. For the rest, do not worry. Things will begin to move very soon."

xxx

"A little silence, ladies and gentlemen," Trask said, as he and his men stood on either side of Martell Socius, seated between his wife and Alan Sheffield on the stage outside the Military Academy. "Please rise and welcome our Prime Minister."

Socius rose and walked towards the microphone, while the Academy's marching band played the Galvenian national anthem. The song at an end, Socius raised his hand in a gesture of greeting.

"My dear colleagues in the Press," Socius said, cheerfully, "I take this opportunity to wish you a very happy and blessed Saint Mikhail's Day! And I join my wishes to yours in wishing our brave men in Zion the greatest success, and a safe and early return home. I am at your disposal, so feel free to pose any questions that you may think important."

"Prime Minister," a woman in the front asked, "you spoke of a 'safe and early return home'. Is this the official position of the Government? Can we expect an early end to this war?"

"It is too early – if you will pardon the pun – to comment on that, but with both the Zion and the Varald reducing the intensity of their attacks, and negotiations open at the Commonwealth, we hope that my statement will become reality," Socius replied. "In the meantime, we will continue to fight, mindful of the fact that those who commit crimes with impunity cannot go unpunished."

"Are we certain that the Varald are responsible for the death of Koketsu and Wilhelm?" a man said sharply. "There has been little hard evidence to date."

"You are right," Socius replied with a nod, "but the silence of the Varald on this issue is, you will surely agree, suspicious. Besides, Hipper has been instrumental in blocking a diplomatic solution to the issue, as advocated by our envoy as well as the Itarians and the Republicans – he has vetoed both the request for an independent enquiry, and the conditional cease-fire that even Kanoi of Zion agreed to. Even if they are not directly guilty, they are certainly exploiting the situation to their own advantage."

Pleased by these two replies – clearly Socius was going to speak his mind, rather than pulling punches – the assorted journalists continued to fire their questions, but there was no malice involved; it was, to most of them, merely a Saint Mikhail's Day diversion. An hour passed, and the time appointed for the conference was almost at hand.

"Prime Minister," a man in the last row of journalists asked, "are the rumours about Princess Carranya's upcoming nuptials true? We have it on good authority that she will soon wed the Duke of Marksmith."

Socius drew his breath in sharply – for this was not supposed to be public knowledge. "The King and Queen, like all good parents, are always concerned about the future of their Heir Apparent. However, I must admit that any plan regarding the marriage of the Princess has not yet reached our ears, and that when it does, you will be the first to know. I am surprised, though" – he chuckled – "that this question was asked by you, and not one of our intrepid women's magazine columnists."

There was a good-humoured ripple of laughter at this, but the man remained staring at Socius, the winter sun reflecting off his glasses.

"You're a poor liar, Prime Minister," he replied, in a voice that sounded strangely loud and harsh, "but we'll forgive you that. After all, a dying man is allowed to leave this world peacefully. Let the celebrations begin for the Princess' nuptials!"

"What on Terra…" Socius began, then looked up to see a round metal sphere floating in the sky, just above the podium. Lines of blue light surrounded it, and every few seconds, it flashed, lighting up the entire area.

"That thing! Take it down!" Trask shouted, and the Palace guards drew their rifles, but before they could go any further, it happened.

The sphere split into two halves, and a large projectile, glowing red, issued forth, heading straight for Sarah Socius.

With a quick, jerky movement, Socius threw himself in its line, pushing his wife out of the way. The projectile struck him, and there was a deafening sound, louder than the twenty-one guns fired for a Royal salute. The red light that surrounded the projectile grew brighter and brighter, until it blinded the terrified assembly, and Sarah Socius, closing her eyes, looked in horror as her husband's coat caught fire, and she was knocked to the ground.

It would be a long time before she regained consciousness.

It would be an even longer time before she could begin to forget what she had witnessed.

xxx


	6. Chapter 5: Hostages

**CHAPTER FIVE**  
_**Hostages**_

**MARKSMITH, HOUSE OF **_- …Though perhaps the most ancient of the noble houses of Galvenia – at least two centuries older than the House of Tulor (q.v.) and the heirs of the Duchy of Delanos (q.v.), the House of Marksmith has also had the most chequered history. Out of favour during the reign of Richard Lionheart because of their Unionist tendencies, they fought nobly against the 'Disloyalists' during the reign of George I. Perhaps more controversially, they were accused of aiding Almonth Jakov's rebels during the Battle of Chespa Bay, but suffered few penalties…_

…_The long-lasting tradition that the Marksmiths and the Lionhearts share a common ancestor has been verified by blood typing (q.v.), but the Marksmiths never made a serious claim to the throne. The possible exception was during the Zion-Varald Conflict that began the Terran War…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

A knock at the door early in the morning – usually carried out by villainous Varald agents – has been a staple of historical dramas for centuries, and is usually followed by a melodramatic arrest scene. It was perhaps for this reason that when Carmen Ortiz, the Regales' housekeeper, was awakened by a knock at the unseemly hour of 6 o'clock, she could not help smiling to herself despite feeling sleepy. For we all have our little diversions, and Carmen was very fond of the theatre.

"Probably an early telegram for Mr. Regale, which couldn't be delivered because of the holiday yesterday," she thought, as she looked through the peep-hole – and stepped back in horror, as she beheld three men in police uniforms, looking far from friendly.

"Is this Mr. Sigmund Regale's home?" a voice called out. "Open the door, please."

Carmen opened the door nervously. "Yes, it is," she replied. "What seems to be the matter?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to let us in, Miss," one of the men said, pushing it open further. "Now, don't look so scared. We want Mr. Regale, but the rest of you are quite all right."

"Wh – what do you mean?" Carmen stammered. The loudness of the men's voices had roused the entire household, and Emily found herself on the landing of the staircase, looking with horror at them.

"Carmen? Good heavens, what happened?" Emily said, running down in her cap and dressing-gown, wide-eyed with surprise. "Who are these gentlemen?"

"Mrs. Regale?" the first of the men said, drawing a piece of paper from his pocket.

"That would be me," Emily replied. "What do you want in our house at this hour, pray?"

"It's quite simple, ma'am. Yesterday, during a press conference, an explosive device of some sort went off, critically injuring Prime Minister Socius, and causing wounds to several others, including his wife and the War Minister. The Prime Minister's condition is grave, and he may not live out today."

"What sort of horror is this?" Emily exclaimed, appalled.

"Moreover, our agents suggest that this was the result of a carefully executed plot, and that one of the conspirators was your husband," the second officer said harshly. "Please ask him to come down at once, as we cannot wait too long."

"Do – do you mean Sigmund is under arrest?" Emily said indignantly. "Officer, there must be some mistake. I've known Sigmund for over twenty years, and though he has many faults, he has nothing to do with any sort of assassination!"

"I think we'll be the judges of that, Mrs. Regale," the third police officer said, in clipped tones. "Now, given Mr. Regale's eminence…"

"Mom?" Lavie hurried down the steps, her hair flying wildly about her. "What's happening, Mom?"

"Lavie, honey…" Emily began hesitantly. One of the officers, noticing her, shook his head. Before she could say anything further, Sigmund appeared at the head of the staircase, glaring at the intruders through his spectacles.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said firmly. "What are you doing in my home at this unearthly hour?"

"If you don't mind, sir," the first officer said, drawing his pistol, "it's us who are asking the questions."

Sigmund turned pale, and his hands began to shake. "What – is going on here, Emily?" he said, slurring the words.

"You're wanted for questioning in relation to the attempted assassination of Martell Socius, Mr. Regale," the second man said, drawing his own sword. "Anything you say or do can be used in court against you. I suggest you get dressed and come quietly, for the sake of your family."

"Daddy, what's going on?" Lavie pleaded. "Please – Daddy didn't do anything of that kind! He was at home with us the whole of yesterday, and…"

"Leave it to us, Miss," the third officer said, not unkindly. "Best not to say too much. We're just following orders."

Lavie and Emily stared at each other, stricken, as Sigmund disappeared meekly into his chamber.

xxx

While these events were taking place, the Premier of the Fulton Republic, Alexander Josen, was not having a particularly pleasant morning either.

"Who is this man, Tariq?" he said, with a dismissive gesture of annoyance, as he sat at his desk, sipping his cup of perfumed tea. "Jedda has already warned me of Jansen's importunities, but this really is the limit!"

Tariq Jaffer, Josen's private secretary, frowned. "His name is Andrei Gerhardt, and he is a military envoy from the Directorate of Varaldia," he replied. "He apologizes for the unscheduled visit, but claims that his task is vital not only for his nation, but for ours."

Josen shrugged his shoulders, and ran one hand over the large moustache that he, like most men of Fulton, proudly displayed from puberty onwards. "I fail to see how the squabbling of the Varald and the Zion affects our Republic, Tariq," he retorted. "However, as much as I dislike the Varald, they have not declared open hostilities on _us_ yet. Send him in, Tariq."

Tariq made a sign to the Republican legionary guarding Josen's door, and Gerhard entered. He wore the uniform of a Varald major-general, and carried a pistol at his belt.

"Good morning, Premier," he said, in a pleasant, accented voice. "Would you prefer me to speak in your tongue?"

"_Shukran,"_ Josen replied, "but I am quite fluent in yours, as well as the common tongue of the Commonwealth. Take a seat, and let's talk business, as we say in Fulton. What is it that you seek, my man?"

"You are certainly aware," Gerhard replied, sitting down and leaning back comfortably in his sofa – "of our war with the Zion. Those Imperial fools have not only bitten off more than they can chew, they are indulging in a childish attempt to harm the Galvenians as well. You have heard, I am sure, of what has befallen Prime Minister Socius."

"Oh, was that the Zion's handiwork?" Josen grinned. "I have it on good authority from my own men that it was an internal matter, and that a Galvenian businessman – interestingly enough, one of our best investors – is being interrogated by their police. But continue. You interest me."

"I am glad, Premier," Gerhardt replied. "The fact of the matter is that the Zion want a stronger presence in Galvenia because she is rich in resources – minerals, coal, and other things essential for their war effort. The disposal of Socius – who is the _de facto _ruler of that country, given Arlbert's moral and political incompetence – is a means to that end. I would not be surprised if Zion troops were in Alton or Lorean in a few more months."

"You're an astute man, Major-General, but surely you haven't come to meet me just to gloat over your discoveries," Josen said drily. "As I was just telling Tariq here, we're far away from any war. Get to the point."

"As you are aware, Premier," Gerhardt replied, unperturbed by the other's implicit rebuke, "though the Varald are dominant now, we are not invincible. This war is likely to continue for at least two years, especially if the Galvenians are pulled further into it. Given this, we turn to you – as trading partners – and ask for permission to use some of your resources. It is a polite request, nothing more."

"Hmm, it's a tempting proposition, Major-General," Josen said teasingly. "I have little love for the Zion, who seem to think that they can shut down the economy of Terra to salve their wounded vanity. And, _sub rosa_ – you see, I speak a little Itarian too – Koketsu would have been an economic disaster. What is it you want? Mercenaries? Our land is full of them, but I leave their recruitment to you. I will merely turn the proverbial blind eye while you do so." He laughed.

"No, Premier, we have more than enough men," Gerhardt said proudly. "What we need are minerals."

"Minerals? Our country is poor in minerals, Gerhardt – especially those that would forge the gears of your war. We are technologically advanced, but we lack materials such as the Zangrest which plates your mighty ships. You are welcome to the little we have, provided it is a fair exchange."

"As a matter of fact, Premier," Gerhardt replied with a smile, "you do have other mineral resources, ones that we need to defend against the Zion. Search your memory, and you will understand what I speak of."

Josen frowned. "Are you referring to – No, out of the question, my good Gerhardt. We tried that stunt once, and all it got us was Commonwealth punishments and unfavourable trade agreements. Those Zion devils were clever. We Republicans are never averse to profit, but we are no fools."

"Leave it to us, Premier," Gerhardt said calmly. "We only ask that you – as you poetically put it – turn a blind eye, and do not take the part of the Commonwealth. The actual - ahem – logistics can be left to us."

"No, Gerhardt," Josen said firmly, bringing his hand down on his desk. "To fight with the Commonwealth would be ruinous for both our nations. Take a friend's advice, and do not go poking around the Duchy of Indernes."

"What if we take care of the Commonwealth?" Gerhard said slyly. "After all, it would be a trifle for President Hipper to move some troops around."

Josen's lips curved into a smile that even his moustache could not hide. "If you can assure that, Gerhardt," he replied, holding out his hand, "then the Republic of Fulton is ready to help you. Our country has suffered enough from those Zion bogeys, and if you have an idea to dispose of them, I will help you."

"Excellent, Premier," said Gerhardt as they shook hands – Josen had a disconcertingly firm grip, he noted. "Director Kievan was right about you."

xxx

_The horrors…._

Sigmund Regale stared at the walls of his cell. It was pleasant and spacious, not to mention well-ventilated, and apart from the barred door, it lacked little in comfort. But it brought him little comfort. It was less than a day since he had been imprisoned, and he could only think of one thing – how to escape.

_We're going to get you, Regale._

"Leave me alone," he muttered. "I didn't get to where I am by being afraid of shadows."

But it was a futile boast. What he feared the most had come true.

_You thought you could escape us, could you?_

_We warned you. You'd be arrested, punished. You're a disgrace, Regale._

"Enough," Sigmund groaned. The light hurt his eyes, and he turned off the lamp, but even the darkness brought no change. "I'm innocent, I tell you, innocent."

_Tell that to the Marines, Regale._

_We told you the police was on your track, didn't we?_

_You can't hide forever._

_It's a merciful release for your poor wife and daughter._

"You lie!" Sigmund screamed, alerting the guard outside his door. "I'm – that's not who I am! I had nothing to do with the Prime Minister's death!"

"Pipe down, moneybags," the guard shouted irritably. "Save that for the trial."

_Money can't buy everything, can it, Sigmund dear?_

_You're going to hang._

"Never," Sigmund replied, staring in terror at the wall. The darkness was no cover. They were everywhere – now he could not only hear them, but _see_ them. Harsh, cruel faces.

_You're a disgrace. A disgrace. I warned my daughter about you, but she wouldn't listen. I was right. You're despicable, Sigmund Regale. You go against all that is good and noble in Galvenia._

_You can't buy your way out of this._

_You're a fool._

_I'm sure Lavie will be very proud of her daddy right now._

"Please," Sigmund said, looking at his trembling hands with dismay. "Please, leave me…."

There was the sound of a thud, and the guard rushed to the door, ready to rebuke his prisoner again. He looked inside, then shuddered.

"Oh, Good Lord," he groaned, looking at the unconscious, convulsing form on the floor before him. "Call a doctor, quick!"

xxx

"…and that, my friends, is the story of Emperor Maximilian of Zion, and his quarrel with Pontiff Jerome X of Itaria," Professor Scott said, closing his book. "Of course, Maximilian's attempt to set up a parallel Pontiff, Oskar III, was purely political – but it divided the Church in Zion for over a century, until his great-grandson Johan rescued Itaria from the Varald Invasion, and deposed the bishops installed by Maximilian's Pontiff. Tomorrow, we'll be tackling the reign of Johan himself, and the First Zion-Varald War. Quite topical, indeed." He chuckled. "Any questions? Yes, Spenson."

"Sir," Henrik said, trying to conceal his excitement, "doesn't Maximilian's Church still have some followers?"

"Good question, Spenson. After the defeat and death of Johan in the War of Galvenian Independence, a sizeable number of nobles attributed this to his 'apostasy' from the Zionese church, and tried to blame Itaria. They tried to resurrect Maximilian's initiative, and even proceeded with the consecration of another parallel Pontiff, Constantius V. Unfortunately, they were cold-shouldered by Johan's son Linois, who wanted peace at all costs, both with Galvenia and Itaria. He signed a new Concordat with Itaria, declaring the entire line of Pontiffs from Oskar invalid, and reaffirming that the Itarian religion was the official faith of Zion. Though some of the nobles and clergy grumbled, they also dwindled, and today they exist only as a small sect."

"Thank you, Sir," Henrik said.

"Oh, don't mention it, Spenson," Professor Scott replied, smoothing down his blue King's College robes. "Class dismissed – and don't forget to read up on the Zion Emperors between Maximilian and Johan before our next lecture!"

As the students rose to leave, Henrik sought out Viola, who was picking up her own satchel and heading for the door.

"Viola," he whispered. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Viola smiled "Of course, Henrik! Come, let's head down to the cafeteria. Zion history is certainly interesting, isn't it?"

"More than interesting," Henrik said, speaking in a low tone. "_I now know what Ivan was trying to tell me before he died._"

"What?" Viola exclaimed.

"Shh, quiet," Henrik replied. "Come, let's have a cup of coffee, and I'll tell you what I found out."

"I also know a thing or two," Viola replied in a whisper. They soon reached the cafeteria, and sat down. Henrik ordered a cup of coffee for himself, hot chocolate for Viola, and then took out a notebook from his own bag.

"So who goes first?" he said, with a grin.

"You, Henrik," Viola replied. "Come on, spill the beans!"

"Remember what Ivan said before he died? We thought he was talking about his aunt, and then the Pontiff. We were wrong. It was probably sheer coincidence that Ivan was raised by his aunt."

"What else could he be saying?" Viola looked puzzled.

"Remember today's lecture, Viola," Henrik said, opening his notebook. "Maximilian fought with Pontiff Jerome over his efforts to legitimize his son, Heinrich, as the heir apparent. Jerome refused, because Maximilian had a legitimate son, Adelbert, by his now abandoned wife, Empress Ursula. Maximilian then invoked old Zion traditions, and said that he was the supreme head of the Church in Zion."

"Silly man," Viola said, with a frown. "I felt sorry for that poor Empress."

"Much like our King Arlbert, I guess," Henrik replied with a wink. "But here's the catch. Jerome condemned this statement, saying that only an ordained bishop could head a Church, and that this was a direct command from the Infinity Himself. Maximilian, not to be outdone, declared Jerome an invalid Pontiff for opposing him, and elevated Oskar, Archbishop of Caledonia, to the Pontificate."

"And you think Ivan was alluding to that old story?" Viola looked doubtful.

"Not really. During the ensuing polemic, as Professor Scott said, both sides accused the other Pontiff – Jerome or Oscar – of being an impostor or a fake. Jerome, in particular, called Oscar an 'anti-pontiff.' Does that ring a bell?"

"Auntie Pontiff – anti-pontiff, yes, I can see that, especially with poor Ivan's accent," Viola said, her eyes widening. "Do you mean Ivan was killed over a matter of Church politics? That there are elements in the Church who want to set up another Pontiff, and that he came to know about this?"

"I think it's a little more complicated than that," Henrik said, "but first, let's see what you've got."

"Only this," Viola said, drawing a hard, lumpy object from her satchel. Henrik looked at it for a moment, stunned.

"Where did you get that?" he exclaimed. "The last time I saw it, it was in a sewer under Lorean."

"A sewer? Ugh!" Viola wrinkled her nose and made a face. "You seem to have led quite an interesting life, Henrik."

"Blame Ryan and Armin for that, Viola," Henrik said apologetically. "But I'm quite certain that it's the same Memory Crystal that we found there. It's broken, though. All it gave us were a few words."

"I found it in Ivan's room," Viola explained. "After Inspector Bell had finished questioning us, I remembered that I had lent Ivan my copy of _The Flower of Itaria_..."

"A romance novel?" Henrik said teasingly.

"Well, sort of, though it's more of a historical epic," Viola admitted. "Anyway, I asked the Inspector if I could go get it, and he said it was no problem, since his men had finished searching the place. I went in to get the book, and I found it on his table. The strange thing is that when we were in his room earlier, none of us saw it! Do you remember?"

"Yes, that's right," Henrik replied. "I've been to Ivan's room many times, but I haven't seen it there."

"Anyway, I was curious," Viola replied. "Mummy knows a thing or two about Memory Crystals; she used to teach science in school before she married Daddy. So I remembered an old trick she taught me; when a Crystal is broken, it can still give up most of its information when placed near another one and then tapped."

"And you had one with you?"

Viola blushed. "Daddy gave me this for my twelfth birthday," she said, taking a smaller, smoother object out of her bag. "He had it made when his crew was down in the Republic; he said that even if he was far away, I'd have something to remember him by."

"He sounds like a very nice guy," Henrik said kindly. "So what did you find?"

"I gave it a shot, and took down what was said, though it still wasn't complete. The voice was very distorted, but it may have been a woman's." She took a notebook out of her satchel, and opened it. The following lines were written there in her neat, small hand:

_I don't know why I keep this, but it reassures me. It reminds me that…_

_God Save The King, God Save The Emperor. We say these words mechanically. But what if a ruler is unrighteous? Do we not have the right to ask that God judge him, rather than save him?_

_But I must not have doubts. I am serving a noble cause. Those who would accuse me of serving my own interests, or those of my family, would be slandering me and my son. I do what I have done, and what I will do, for the good of Arlia. And no one, not even the Pontiff…._

_She is a fool. She does not realize what….._

"I think it all adds up, don't you?" Viola said, beaming at him.

"Sweet Infinity, Viola – this speaker must be the 'mother' that Ivan tried to tell me about!" Henrik whispered excitedly, as they leaned closer together. "Don't you see, it all adds up. Charlemagne is sick and dying. The Council of Viceroys has placed its men in Itaria, despite the Pontiff's protests. Someone – probably a possible heir of the Zion Emperor – wants to set up a Pontiff of their own, and the blockade of Itaria is part of this plan…"

"And Ivan, who is training for the priesthood, somehow came to learn about this – and probably wanted to tell his superiors in Itaria about it," Viola concluded. "Unfortunately, someone – silenced him before he could speak."

"Yes," Henrik agreed. "Only, that last deduction could just be a guess, since you weren't sure if it was a man or a woman speaking. But what does this have to do with the war?"

"Perhaps they provoked the war with the sole intention of placing troops in Itaria," a voice said clearly, breaking in on their thoughts. "You're clever, the two of you. God help the Auntie Pontiff if you get on his case." The speaker chuckled.

"Professor Scott!" Henrik looked up at the speaker with embarrassment. "We were just, ahem…."

"Oh, I know a thing or two about this, Spenson and Miss Benise," he replied genially. "Come down to my chambers. There are things you need to know. But be warned, it's not pleasant."

"Ivan was our friend," Viola said firmly. "If someone killed him for political reasons, we have to find out the truth, even if it's not pleasant."

"Right you are, Miss Benise – I see you have your father's fighting spirit, as harmless as you may look," Professor Scott replied with approval. "Come along."

xxx

"We must insist, President Hipper," Archbishop Mazarus said firmly, "on the immediate removal of the Zion troops from our country. The Pontiff has already appealed to the Emperor, and his request was refused. If there is truly a threat of invasion, let the Commonwealth Special Forces protect our coasts. But since we have received no threat of invasion from the Varald, and are being harmed by the blockade that the Zion impose…"

"You ingrate!" Kanoi thundered. "Do you not remember how your country was ravaged by the Varald during the last Zion-Varald War? Your alleged "blockade" is purely a protective measure, to prevent spies or war resources from being smuggled through Itaria!"

"If that were not all," Mazarus went on, with a venomous look at Kanoi, "the Zion agents are now indulging in unnecessary propaganda, defaming our Pontiff and our Church. Pray tell me, Kanoi, are you at war with us, that you should behave this?"

"The Emperor made a perfectly legitimate request of you, and your precious Pontiff refused it," Kanoi shot back. "In a time of war, ordinary rules do not apply. If Saint Geraud's blessing is needed for us to win this war…"

"Saint Geraud was an apostle of peace, not a petty warmonger like your Council of Viceroys!" Mazarus said, in fiery tones. "And let me tell you, Kanoi, that the Pontiff has been contemplating severe ecclesiastical penalties against the Council for their immoral actions! Prophecies are unveiled by the Church, not at the point of a sword or the barrel of a gun!"

"Oh, this is _so_ amusing," Jedda said, clapping his hands. "You Zion and Itarians sound like an old married couple, as my wife would say."

"Shut up, Jedda," Kanoi grumbled. "And tell your Pontiff, Mazarus, that his ecclesiastical voodoo does not frighten us. When he is the one doing wrong, his sentences have no binding power."

"My brothers," Lord Lucan pleaded. "The matter is simple. Galvenia must side with the Zion in this matter. As long as the Zion troops are not invading Itaria, and are not harming her citizens, why do you protest, Mazarus?"

"If they were in Alton, spreading rumours about King Arlbert and his unfitness to reign, would you still be calm, Lucan?" Mazarus replied, glaring at him. "There are other kinds of harm besides physical injury and death, you know."

"The Varald, for perhaps the first time in our history, support Archbishop Mazarus," Jansen said, with a laugh. "This comedy has gone on long enough, Kanoi. It is clear that you intend to reduce Itaria to vassalage, and use it as a base to strike our northern coast."

"You see?" Kanoi growled. "You are selling your soul to the enemy, Mazarus!"

"Pray, do not worry about my soul, Kanoi," Mazarus said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Rather, weep for your own soul, and those of your Viceroys, who blaspheme the Infinity by slandering his appointed leader!"

"The vote, gentlemen, the vote!" Lucan said anxiously. "Here is the proposition. Whether the Commonwealth requests the Zion to withdraw their troops from Itaria, and second, whether they may be replaced by Commonwealth forces, given the ongoing war."

"I vote in favour of both," Mazarus said, folding his hands across his chest.

"The Zion object! We condemn both these propositions as foolish and offensive!" Kanoi shouted.

"The Republic abstains, Mazarus," Jedda said, with a regretful shake of his head. "Make things up with that wayward wife of yours, and leave the Commonwealth out of it."

"I vote in favour of the first, but not the second," Commissioner Jansen added. "Let the Zion leave, but there is no need to waste our resources."

"We oppose both propositions," Lord Lucan said. "Mr. President, the decision is yours. Your vote can break the tie."

Terrin Hipper smiled. He had been waiting for this moment a long time. Running one hand through his straggly beard, he furrowed his eyebrows and looked straight in Kanoi's eye.

"My dear gentlemen," he said, in his deep, pleasant baritone, "first of all, I think you ought to be more temperate in your language, Mazarus. But I can make allowances for the fact that you are upset. Second, Kanoi, regardless of my opinion of the Itarian religion, I represent the Commonwealth now. You have no business placing your troops there, and I view it as a hostile act." He raised his hand to silence Kanoi, who had opened his mouth to speak, and went on. "Therefore, I kindly request you to withdraw your troops from Itaria – they have no need of them. And if you do not honour this request, then I shall be forced to deploy the Commonwealth Peacekeeping Forces, in accordance with the powers vested in me as your President."

Kanoi turned pale, and began to perspire. "You – you would not dare…"

"My dear Kanoi, I'm afraid I would," Hipper replied affably. "Now be a good boy and get your men out of there. Surely they have more – ahem – important tasks to attend to."

Jansen laughed. "Well played, Mr. President!" he said.

"This is unacceptable…" Lucan stammered.

"So be it," Mazarus said calmly. "Mr. President, what time frame do you set for compliance with your directive?"

"Oh, I shall be generous, Mazarus," Hipper replied. "I give the Zion a month to withdraw from Itaria. If not, the Commonwealth Peacekeeping Forces shall leave Unity Isle. Is that clear?"

"You will pay for this, Hipper…" Kanoi began.

"Now, now, Kanoi," Jedda said, enjoying the discomfiture all around him. "Threats will serve no purpose. As the President says, be a good boy and take your medicine."

xxx

"I am glad to see you all, my young friends," Joseph, Duke of Marksmith observed. Henrik and Viola, still awed by their surroundings, merely replied with a bow and a curtsey respectively. "It is true that a month has passed since the tragic demise of Prime Minister Socius, and we are still in the dark, but hopefully, you can shed some light on this matter."

"I do hope so, Your Lordship," Professor Scott replied. "Come, sit down, both of you. The Duke wants to hear the story you have carefully pieced together."

"Er, sure thing, Professor," Henrik said. Swallowing nervously, he began with the events on the night of Ivan's death, and from time to time, Viola encouraged him with a word or a smile. When they had finished, the Duke nodded, and looked somber.

"It is as I suspected," he said gently, resting one arm on the ornate armchair in which he reclined. "Thank the Infinity that you found out what was happening. We will have to inform Lord Lucan at the Commonwealth quite soon."

"If you don't mind my asking, Your Lordship," Henrik replied, "what _is_, ahem, going on?"

"It's quite simple. As you have figured out, Charlemagne is ill, and with the death of Wilhelm, there is no Heir Presumptive – for, unlike Galvenia, the Zion Code of Inheritance does not allow his daughter, Hildegarde, to inherit the throne. Besides, she is too young. This means that several factions of relatives, with the backing of the military and the nobility, are jockeying for power."

He paused, cleared his throat, and went on. "One such faction belongs to the Countess Helene of Lesser Caledonia, who is a direct lineal descendant of the Hohenzollern Dynasty which preceded the Valtemonds. The Countess has a son, Siegbert, whom she wishes to place on the throne. Among her friends are Hunermann, the chairman of the Council of Viceroys, and Gruner, the Archbishop of Caledonia."

"I presume she wants to ensure her son's accession to the throne," Scott remarked.

"Quite right, Professor," the Duke of Marksmith went on. "Now, here's the tricky part. The Zion have somehow got hold of a prophecy – or a garbled version of one – made by Emperor Geraud, which was sealed in the Itarian Secret Archives. This prophecy speaks of a coming global war, and the rise of a strong ruler who will end the war and bring peace to Arlia. Pontiff Pious tried to silence this rumour, claiming that the prophecy merely referred to events such as Miller's presidency, Darington, and the Battle of Chespa Bay. Infuriated by this, the Council of Viceroys sent their men to try a little gunboat diplomacy – as it is vulgarly called – on the Itarians. Sooner or later, if Pious does not yield, the Council will declare that Gruner is the valid Pontiff, and the Zion troops on Itaria will open hostilities."

"But what about the Varald?" Viola remarked absently. "Surely even the Zion can't handle two wars at once!"

"Ah, I'll have to keep quiet about that for now, Miss Benise," the Duke replied, shaking his head slowly. "But trust me when I say that they know exactly what they are doing. I have only one request to make of you, and that is that you continue to keep your eyes and ears open, and discreetly continue to enquire into the death of Ivan Kasprowicz. If you stumble upon anything, please bring it to Scott at once."

"Of course we will, Your Lordship," Henrik replied.

"Very good, my friends. You may leave now, and remember that you are sworn to secrecy on this issue. I will not stop until I have uncovered the Zion plot, and put an end to Countess Helene's infamy."

As the three left the Duke's Lorean mansion, Viola turned to Professor Scott, a puzzled look on her face.

"Professor," she whispered, "why is the Duke taking this so personally? Shouldn't this be in the hands of the Government, or the King?"

Scott turned to her and whispered a few words in her ear, which caused her to flush and smile. "Oh, goodness," she said excitedly. "Is that true?"

"What is, Viola?" Henrik asked.

"Apparently, the Duke is going to marry Princess Carranya! Isn't that romantic! He seems like such a good man, and he doesn't look half bad, as Mummy would put it!"

"Well, lucky for her," Henrik observed wryly. "At least he won't be goofing off like King Arlbert."

xxx

"Carranya, be comforted," Lady Rochelle Anton said, as she helped the Princess into her Court dress. "Has that dreadful man, Thomssen, been too harsh with you?"

"Not more than I deserve, Rochelle," Carranya observed sadly, as two Royal maids fussed around her hair and her attire.

"Now, that's no way for a future Queen to speak," she said soothingly. "Poor child. A martinet of a Spiritual Advisor on the left, a profligate libertine of a father on the right. It's a wonder you've turned out the fine young woman that you are, Princess. Your mother and I are very proud of you."

"Thank you, Rochelle," Carranya replied with a forced smile. "Has my mother told you – the news?"

"I'm afraid so." Rochelle smiled. "Come now, Carranya, surely that isn't what has upset you? Marksmith is a fine young man, and though I've often upbraided him for his foppishness and his boring political discussions, you could do worse."

"I have," Carranya said simply.

"Oh, Carranya," Rochelle said gently, "why won't you let the past die? And why won't that Thomssen realize that girls will be girls, and boys will be boys? Let me tell you something, Princess, as someone who loves you and your mother very much. You've done nothing that you need to be ashamed of. If anyone needs to be ashamed, it's…."

"I'm not talking about that, Rochelle," Carranya replied. "I'm talking about – what's happening now…" She blushed, and hid her face with her hands, causing the maids to gasp.

"Carranya, I know," she replied. "And you know that I know, don't you?"

Carranya nodded mutely.

"Now, listen to me, and forget Thomssen. It's true that you're the Princess, and that you must obey your parents for reasons of State. But don't assume that it's the end of the world, just because that young man has slipped away from you. We never know what the future can hold, Carranya. Things will look brighter some day, when this war is over. Perhaps when you hold your first child in your arms." Her expression softened. "Now, are you ready to come down? Your father and mother will be waiting."

"Yes, Rochelle," Carranya replied, trying hard to believe in her friend's words. But it was to no avail. She felt, not like the Crown Princess of Galvenia, but like a prisoner – and in three months, the bars would come down.

xxx


	7. Chapter 6: Allies

**CHAPTER SIX**  
_**Allies**_

**INTERNATIONAL CORPORATIONS**_…._._In our day and age, the only true international corporations – those that operate in more than one nation of Terra, and are not partly or entirely owned by their respective Governments – all have their headquarters in the Fulton Republic, which was left relatively unscathed by the Terran War and its aftermath. But it is not false pride to note that the first such corporation, Regale Enterprises, was owned and run by Galvenians, and that its subsequent move to Fulton had more to do with the politics of loyalty than with any economic considerations…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

_I don't know whom to tell, _Lavie thought, as she stepped off the ferry from Mann Island, and looked around at the docks of Davenport. _Mom, of course, but….I wish Ryan were here. Maybe I should just – write to him, though he may not bother replying, the jerk! Or maybe I should speak to the Lieutenant. He was so helpful when Daddy was shifted to the prison hospital…_

For Sigmund Regale was now learning the hard way that years of toil, and of a certain devotion to Galvenia's finest breweries, did not go unnoticed by the body. He was now mercifully over the "terrors" of his first day of imprisonment, but his liver was – according to the physicians – in bad shape, and he would be discharged back to a low-security prison only in another two weeks. He had pleaded guilty to being one of the group that had sent Socius the Memory Crystal, but refused to name names, and strenuously denied any role in his assassination – something that Lavie and Emily, too, believed steadfastly.

_Poor Daddy,_ she thought. _I know he could be awful at times, but he's had a hard life, and he's always tried to be good to me._ _In a way, he's a lot softer on Mom now that he's sick, and they aren't quarrelling that often. Things were looking good – until today…_

Slinging her bow across her back, she began to walk down the path that led back to the town, when she was shaken out of her brown study by a scream.

"Leave me alone!" a girl's voice called out indignantly. "What did I do to you, anyway?"

There was the sound of someone being pushed against a stack of crates, and Lavie froze, then drew her bow, moving forward cautiously. _That voice_, she thought. _It can't be…_

"Not screaming so much now, aren't you?" a man's voice, rough and harsh, replied. "Now, this is how it's going to be. We're going to take you with us, and your dad's going to sing like a canary. Do you…."

"Let go of her!" Lavie cried out, stepping behind the crates and finding that her ears had not played her false. Lying on the ground and struggling to stand was her rival, Marianne Robertson, who was being dragged by her hair by a tall, thin man with a scar on his right shoulder.

"Oh, look what we have here," the man said, looking at Lavie and whistling. "Baby doll, I'll tell you what. I'll leave the little girl alone if you give me a kiss or two. How about it?"

"How about trying _this_!" Lavie said angrily, scraping an arrow against her bangle and firing it at the man. It struck him squarely on the arm, and his shirt caught fire, sending him running desperately in the direction of the sea. A second man, who had been waiting behind a crate, saw the fate that had befallen his friend, and fled in turn.

"Hmph, what a jerk!" Lavie said. "That'll teach him a lesson, for sure!"

"Lavie?" Marianne rose to her knees with difficulty, and raised her head. "Sweet heavens, Lavie, what are _you_ doing here of all people?"

"What does it look like?" Lavie replied archly, then softened, as she realized that Marianne was terrified. "I just heard you scream, and I, um, felt I had to intervene. It's nothing, really."

"Lavie, thank you," Marianne said, still shaking.

"Oh, don't mention it," Lavie replied, offering her a hand and helping her stand. "I suppose that if I can't help Ryan, I might as well help – those he cares about," she went on, a little stiffly.

"Ryan?" Marianne shook her head. "Look, Lavie, I'm sorry about Ryan, but that's all over, okay? I did try to make things up with him before he left, but he wouldn't reply to my note. I wrote to him twice, but I didn't get a reply."

"That makes two of us," Lavie said, surprised by what she had just heard. "Who were those horrid men, anyway?"

"I'd never seen them in my life before," Marianne replied, still breathing heavily. "I'd come down to the docks to pick up a parcel for my dad, and then the tall guy suddenly sprang out at me! He had the parcel, and he said he was going to – kidnap me and blackmail my dad…" She began to weep.

Awkwardly, Lavie placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's all right, Marianne," she said. "You're safe now. But what do you mean, blackmailing your dad?"

"I don't know," Marianne said, shaking her head wildly. "Dad's an agent for many businessmen, including _your _dad. Maybe they wanted some business knowledge or trade secrets."

"Hmm, but isn't kidnapping his daughter rather a drastic thing to do?" Lavie reflected. "There must be something more to this."

"I don't know," Marianne replied. "Dad's so busy with his work, and though he does try to spend time with me, I'm alone most of the time. I – I miss Ryan, Lavie…"

"That makes two of us again, Marianne," Lavie said, not unkindly. "Your parents split up, didn't they?"

"Mom walked out on us just before our graduation, to be with some guy in Lorean," Marianne said, with an expression of disgust on her face. "She and Dad had been fighting a long time before that, mainly about her debts. It's just been the two of us since then – Dad and I."

"I'm sorry," Lavie said. "Look, Marianne, we've got to inform the police about this. If someone's stealing stuff from your dad and threatening you, we can't ignore it!"

"I don't know if I could face the police right now…" Marianne said doubtfully.

"Then come and – have a cup of tea, and if you're hurt, Carmen will look after you," Lavie said, a little reluctantly. "I'll talk to Mom – Granddaddy was a judge, so she knows some folks in the police, and they might be able to help you. That is, if you want to."

Marianne smiled weakly. "That's kind of you, Lavie," she replied. "I think I will. Dad won't be home anyway."

xxx

The month appointed by President Hipper was almost at an end, and the Zion troops showed no signs of leaving Itaria. Neither the ferocity of their war with the Varald – they had recaptured some of their towns, but were still suffering significant losses – nor the threat of Commonwealth action, nor the cold Itarian winter, seemed to dissuade them. Shipments of coal from Fulton – one of Itaria's greatest sources of fuel – were almost completely cut off, and when the Pontiff met his Council of Bishops, they met by candlelight.

"What news from the city, Polycarp?" Pious said, the light of the candle at his right hand reflecting off his spectacles.

Archbishop Polycarp Meissner – Pious' right-hand man, and the man involved in most of the practical governance of Itaria – folded his hands. "There is good and bad, Pontiff," he replied in a booming bass voice that had, in his younger days, made him a prized member of the Pontifical Chorus of Chant. "The courage of the simple folk, even in the face of privation, is heartening. Despite the almost complete loss of revenue from tourism, we have been able to ensure that the winter did not claim too many victims. And attendance at churches and liturgies has not decreased by one iota – nay, it has increased slightly. However…"

"You may speak frankly, Meissner," Archbishop Diaz said. "We are among friends here."

"Diaz, let me be as frank as I can," Meissner went on, with a sigh. "Unfortunately, this blockade has also brought tensions within our own land to the forefront. On the one hand, there are those who are pro-Zion, and who have begun to repeat the Zion's evil rumours about Pontiff Augustus and the false 'Secret of Geraud'. These groups live largely in the towns along the coast. On the other, there are those who are anti-Zion, and who see Charlemagne as another Maximilian the Heretic. They are angry with the blockade, have staged vigils outside the Zion embassy, and have been to mutter – not too loudly – about taking up arms."

"Much as I expected, my good Polycarp," Pontiff Pious replied. "What of the Itarian Guard?"

"They are unhappy, Pontiff. They are less used to living simply than the folk in our villages and towns, many of whom have only limited access to modernity in the first place. Moreover, many of them are Zionese, and while some oppose Charlemagne's tactics, others are less certain."

"Is there any imminent danger of an insurrection?"Archbishop Batista, whose diocese covered the coastal towns, said sharply.

"Not so far, Batista," Meissner replied. "but we cannot rule out the possibility. The loss of tourists has hit several people hard, and they will turn either against the Zion, or against us…"

"What news from the Commonwealth, Diaz?" the Pontiff interrupted.

"Mazarus has just informed me that Hipper will be deploying a fleet of the Commonwealth Naval Authority, carrying a projection force of around one thousand troops mainly drawn from the Republic and a few Galvenians. If needed, they will be strengthened by further troops withdrawn from the Republic, as Hipper feels that a regular peacekeeping force is not needed there."

"From the Republic?" Pious XXI closed his eyes. "You wouldn't suppose that they'd be withdrawing them from…"

"Your Holiness!" Meissner exclaimed. "Surely even Hipper would not dare to do that. For almost a century and a half, the troops in Indernes have guarded – what lies there."

"I must confess I foresaw such an eventuality, Polycarp," Pious said apologetically. "I did not want to frighten you with it, my friends, but now I see that we must bow with the inevitable."

"Then Saint Geraud's prophecy was…" Diaz began, then stopped, looking at his colleagues with horror.

"Not yet, my good Diaz, not yet – there are some prophecies which are proleptic, as you well know. They have an early, partial fulfillment, but their consummation comes about later. We are in for troubled times, but remember" – he smiled and folded his hands in prayer – "the end is not yet. We must pray and hope, for now things will begin to unravel."

"May the Infinity save us all," Batista whispered.

xxx

"This is an outrage!" Jeffrey Tolbruk grumbled, hurling his empty glass against the wall, where it shattered. "Do these Royal morons not realize how much they, and their precious Socius, owe to us?"

"Easy there, Mr. Tolbruk," Theodore Eramond said uneasily. He had always been uncomfortable at the few semi-secret meetings of the Fletcher Council that he had attended, but never as much as he was today. "Remember, Sigmund is holding firm, and they have no evidence on which to detain him. Soon, he'll be back with his family."

"Theodore is right, Jeffrey," Ellesimar Vryce observed, petting the dog that danced around his heels. "But something evil is afoot, mark my words. We need to get to the bottom of it all. The outrage on Robertson's daughter indicates that we are dealing with a clever enemy, one who wants to harm both us and the Galvenian government."

"We need allies, gentlemen – the Fletcher Council was never meant to be involved in espionage, though Robertson has served us wonderfully," Simeon Wright said, shaking his head.

"I have a suggestion," Alex Robertson replied. He still looked hesitant, and was trying hard not to show how much the attack on his beloved "little girl" had unnerved him. "I have it on good authority that young Marksmith is doing a little private investigation of his own."

"Marksmith?" Vryce picked up his dog, Lucky, and placed him on his lap. "Isn't he our next Prince Consort?"

"That's not yet public knowledge, Vryce," Tolbruk replied, "but it's the worst-kept secret in Galvenia, I'd say. How do you know this, Robertson?"

"Let's just say that some of my men ran into some of his, and we found that we had a common adversary," Robertson replied quietly. "I have made tentative overtures to him, as instructed by Sigmund…"

"What? Is Regale already out of prison?" Tolbruk exclaimed.

"No, he communicates with me by telegram, using a pre-arranged code. He is eager to meet us a week from now, to exchange information. What do you think?"

Slowly, all the men in the room nodded, except Theodore Eramond, and they all turned to stare at him.

"I don't know how good an idea this is, Alex," he said, finally, realizing that he was expected to speak. "Father always told me that the Marksmiths were two-faced, and Walter had conclusive evidence that they played turncoat at Chespa Bay, though that information was sealed by King George III for political reasons. For all we know, he could be like his ancestors."

"Nonsense, Eramond," Vryce said soothingly. "Don't be a wet blanket. We need to pool our resources and get to the bottom of this Socius affair, if we don't want a cloud to hang over Regale Enterprises."

"Or Eramond Delivery Services," Wright added slyly.

Theodore's shoulders sagged. "Very well," he replied with a sigh. "We might as well give it a try."

xxx

"Good riddance, I say," Lieutenant-Colonel Stein of the Commonwealth Special Forces commented, as the last of his men boarded the ships bound for Itaria. "It was nice having a paid vacation all this time, but it's good to see some action for a change!"

"How bad is the situation there, Stein?" was the rejoinder from his fellow commanding officer, Rear Admiral Suleiman of the Commonwealth Naval Authority. "Hipper's already sent some of us over there, bless his soul."

"The Zion are absurd," Stein replied. "Our forces are already approaching Itaria, and they're making no move to pull out – in fact, our agents have informed us that they are trying to make contacts with rebels along the coast. Do they want to invade the wretched country? Isn't one war at a time enough for Terra?"

"I have to agree with you, Stein," Suleiman replied, "and yet – who are we to comment on what's absurd? Haven't we been the living definition of absurdity, guarding a territory which is only occupied by a few peasants and artisans, and where the last armed conflict occurred one hundred and fifty-five years ago? Honestly, though I have no brief for the Varald, I agree with Hipper – guarding Indernes is a waste of time."

"Unless there are still Zion sorcerers hidden there," Stein joked. "If there are, they'd better get their hundred-league boots on and fly to the Zion border as soon as they can – before the Varald make further incursions! Hell, Suleiman, magic is probably the only thing that can save them from a long, painful, humiliating war of attrition."

"And this time, they won't be the ones suing for peace," Suleiman replied, chuckling to himself. "But let's get going now. All your men are accounted for. What are the orders?"

"Hipper has asked us to approach Itaria, but to wait for instructions from our colleagues who reach there first," Stein said. "After all, it's not like the Zion are going to start attacking us immediately."

"Perhaps they'll start praying for the Almighty to smite us," Suleiman replied, as the two men boarded their ship in high good humour, unaware of what they would soon face…

xxx

"To Darington?" Henrik said doubtfully. "But – that isn't even Galvenian territory now; it's Imperial soil, and it's highly guarded after the war and the death of Socius. How will we get in?"

"I think my friend Miriam will answer that for us, Spenson," Professor Scott replied.

"Miriam?"

"Well, hello, Henrik!" Sister Miriam said, entering the room flushed and a little out of breath. "Goodness, when the Duke wrote to me last week, I didn't know what I was getting into!"

"Hi, Sister!" Henrik said, greeting her with a smile and a wave. "Don't tell me you're a part of this too…"

"I'm afraid I am," she replied. "You two children will need a chaperone for the trip to Issachar. When the Archbishop of Lorean gives me an instruction, I must obey!"

"Issachar?" Viola drew in her breath sharply. "What's happening, Sister?"

"Let me explain," Miriam said patiently, as she sat down next to Professor Scott. "It is almost certain that the Zion will make an attempt to kidnap – or even harm – Mother Anna, the elderly superior of the Sisters of Redemption at Issachar."

"Yes, I read the papers," Henrik observed, holding up the _Davenport Herald_. Its front page recorded the Pontiff's official censure of the Zion blockade of Itaria, as well as a statement from Sister Anna, expressing support for the Pontiff and disapproval for his former allies' conduct. "But I didn't think they would dare to do so. It would be a grave sin to harm her."

"The Council of Viceroys is not truly religious, Spenson," Professor Scott replied. "They are using religion as a tool to set up their precious Hohenzollern Emperor, that's all."

"Therefore, the Archbishop of Lorean – working with the approval of the Pontiff – has taken it upon himself to offer her a safe place in Galvenia, at least until the war ends," Miriam continued. "And if you are willing, children, you can help us. Ivan was one of the Pontiff's contacts in Galvenia, and his mission – besides studying philosophy – was to assess if the time was ripe for such a rescue, poor soul."

"Ivan?" Viola wiped a tear from her eye. "If he was helping you with this, Sister, I am willing to do the same, and I'm sure Henrik feels the same way."

"No disagreement there," Henrik agreed. "What is it that we need to do?"

"It is simple. This Saturday, you and Miss Benise, accompanied by Miriam and one of our priests, will travel across the border to Darington, in the guise of youth seeking to join the Mendicant Brothers of Divine Love."

"Hmm, I've actually contributed to that order," Henrik said. "Ryan used to make fun of them, and call them the 'Romancing Walkers', because many of them were personable young men."

Viola giggled. "That's actually sort of funny, Henrik," she replied. "Are you sure they won't spot us, Sister? I mean, Mummy was a churchgoer, but I'm not exactly the religious type!"

"They're working with us, Henrik," Miriam replied with a grin. "Once you reach Darington, the Superior of the Mendicant Brothers, Brother Richard, will place you on a carriage. To all appearances, it will be carrying patients to a hospital run by the Sisters of Redemption at Issachar, and you will be dressed as nursing students. You will travel there, and meet Mother Anna, who will leave with you and return first to Darington, and then to Lorean."

"Will they let us go so easily?" Henrik said, surprised.

"Oh, it'll be a fair exchange, Henrik," Miriam replied. "I will stay behind in her place and keep them running. If the Zion want an impostor" – she chuckled – "let's give them one!"

"But won't it be dangerous, Sister?" Viola gasped. "Sooner or later, they'll find out."

"A Sister of Saint Mikhail is ready to defend her fellow religious, even if this means danger," Sister Miriam said stoutly, a determined look on her face. "As for the journey out, we have friends here who will help us. Father Eugene Thomssen, the Queen's spiritual advisor, and the Duke of Marksmith will arrange the necessary permits and documents, and will even provide you with concealed guards for your return. They will also keep Mother Anna concealed at Court, until the Commonwealth can repulse the Zion attack on Itaria. Now, Henrik, Viola – are you still with us?"

"Absolutely, Sister," Henrik replied, looking at her with admiration. "It's bad enough that I can't join the Army because Father refused; let me at least serve Galvenia, and the Faith, as best as I can."

"I'm with Henrik," Viola said, colouring deeply. "I may not know much about your Church, but I do know what is right and what is wrong."

"Excellent, my friends," Professor Scott replied. "Now, tonight after the curfew, meet me in my room. I'll have a carriage waiting to take you to Marksmith's manor, and we'll leave from there."

xxx

"To the Republic?" Lavie said, her eyes widening. "What do you mean, Mom? We can't leave home!"

"I'm afraid that's what we'll have to do, Lavie, at least for a while," Emily said sadly. "It's part of the conditions for your father's release. Though they've found him 'not guilty', he's still under a cloud, and they've given us two options. Either we can stay here under house arrest, with policemen living in Casa Regale, or he can accept a temporary exile in the Fulton, where some of his relatives live. It'll only be for a year – or less, if the war ends before that."

"Suppose the Republic is also involved in the war," Lavie whispered. "Will we ever be able to go home again?"

"I do hope so, dear, and I don't think Fulton is important enough to be involved in any war," Emily said soothingly. "Now chin up, Lavie, and take it as a Lancaster woman should. We both know that your father is innocent, and that this is just the Unionist Party's attempt at revenge, but we will not let that defeat us."

"But what about Gran?" Lavie said anxiously. "She's already been ill, and she's…" She stopped herself, blushing.

"What about Mother, Lavie?" Emily said sharply, noticing the guilty look on her daughter's face.

"Oh, I didn't want to tell you, Mom," Lavie stammered, "but now…."

"Out with it, Lavie," Emily replied, a little more gently. "You're been going around with a long face for over a week now, and I'm sure it's not just about Ryan. What has Mother told you?"

"Gran said she's consulted the doctors at Lorean," Lavie said, so softly that Emily had to stand beside her, "and they're afraid they can't do very much more…for her. They've given her…a month, at best."

"A month!" Emily stared at her daughter uncomprehendingly. "Lavender Regale, do you mean you knew Mother was dying, and you never told me?"

"She made me promise not to tell you," Lavie wailed. "She said she'd sent word to you when – when the time was near, because she knew you were worried about Daddy, and she didn't want to upset you further…"

"Dear Mother," Emily said, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "She was always like that. Well, Lavie, now that you've told me, I don't have the heart to scold you – or to remain here talking about the Republic. Get dressed, Lavie. We're going to see her."

"All right, Mom," Lavie replied, a little more cheerily – for even in the current circumstances, she always treasured her visits to her grandmother. "I hope – she'll understand, and not be too mad at me…"

"Oh, Lavie," Emily said, embracing her, "trust me, I know Mother. She won't mind."

xxx

"A transfer to the _Commonwealth Special Forces_?" Ryan said, staring incredulously at the letter in front of him. "Are you sure this isn't some sort of joke?"

"I'm afraid not, Ryan," Sergeant Ferrars replied. "The Commonwealth is calling for reinforcements, now that the Zion have actually launched an attack on the Itarian coast. The Zion and the Varald cannot commit more men to them, and the Rough Riders are on the Zion border. Hipper sent a personal request to the King, asking for reserves from the regular forces."

"But isn't getting into the CSF, um, difficult?" Ryan said, still unable to believe his good fortune. "My dad tried to, and he couldn't."

"Your dad didn't save the Crown Princess of Galvenia twice, son," Ferrars said affectionately. "Besides, your performance so far – at the mines, on Royal guard duty, and at Darington – has been good, and King Arlbert himself recommended you and Humphreys. Do us proud, Lance-Corporal."

"I will, Sir," Ryan said.

"Lieutenant Curtis, here, will brief you about your upcoming mission," Ferrars said, leading Ryan to a smaller room and opening the door. "Good luck, Ryan."

"Thank you, sir," Ryan replied. As he entered the room, he found a hundred of his fellow soldiers with him – including his platoon-mates, Humphreys and Davies – already seated. Lieutenant Curtis of the Commonwealth Naval Authority was standing in front of a blackboard, holding a pointer in one hand.

"Ah, hello, Eramond," he said. "Do take a seat. Now that we're all here, let me tell you what's going to happen in Itaria. There'll be about five hundred of you setting sail from Serin's Peak by the end of this week, in ten of our ships. Your mission is to keep the peace – not to engage the Zion in combat, unless this is inevitable, but to protect the people of Itaria and to try and keep the trade routes open."

"What's it like out there, Sir?" a sergeant asked cheerfully.

"It's a bloody mess, Sergeant," Curtis replied darkly. "The Zion have superior numbers, and apparently they're being aided and hidden by people in the coastal towns. The majority of our men there are Republicans, and they're not used to the sort of commando-guerrilla monkey show that the Zion are running. But you boys ought to fix that."

As the briefing went on, Ryan listened with only half his attention. A single thought ran through his mind.

_Grandpa_, he thought exultantly, _this is it! I'm going to serve with the CSF, and I'm going to keep the peace, not just invade another country! Just as you did. Grandpa – can you see me now?_

_xxx_

To understand why Ryan and his friends were being mobilized, we must turn the clock back a few days…

"We should be reaching Itaria in less than six hours, Stein," Rear Admiral Suleiman observed, consulting his instruments. "From what I've heard, the Zion are taking no prisoners."

"What excuse do they give for this disgraceful conduct?" Stein said angrily. "Good Lord, it's hard to tell who's the aggressor here – they are behaving as badly as the Varald!"

"Radio Caledonia claims that a group of Itarians attacked Zion sailors who had docked near the city of Lucida," Suleiman said, with no great conviction. "Apparently they retaliated in self-defense, but more Itarians poured out and began to use guns."

"Lies," Stein growled – though an Old Republican himself, his wife was a Church member, and he had little patience for anyone who upset her. "Itarians and guns? Next they'll be telling me that Arlbert has sworn a vow of celibacy."

"At any rate, the Zion ships claimed they fired two volleys in self-defence – one of which conveniently destroyed the Church of the Five Angels at Lucida," Suleiman continued. "That got the Itarians wild – there is a limit even to pacifism – and a militia from the town, brandishing old swords and other paraphernalia, engaged in two tussles with the Zion troops. At the end of it all, fifty Itarians and two Zion soldiers were dead, and the Zion accused the Itarians of violating the terms of the Concordat of Johan. The first of forces arrived soon and were deployed immediately, but the Zion are holding them off."

"I may not be an Intelligence agent, Suleiman," Stein retorted, "but I know a cheap trick when I see one. What is wrong with those blasted Zionese?"

"Admiral!" The voice behind the two men was urgent. "A fleet of Zion ships is approaching us rapidly from behind!"

"What?" Suleiman exclaimed. Turning around and looking into his telescope, he saw that the lookout's words were chillingly true.

"What do you think they want with us?" Stein said, the bluster gone from his voice.

"I don't know, Stein," Suleiman said, looking resolutely at the approaching fleet of five ships. "Ensign, send instructions to the other two ships with us, asking them to be ready for action. Do not break from our trajectory, but keep making for the Coast of Saint Valentius."

The necessary instructions were soon given, but the Zion ships were gaining on them rapidly.

"Sir, they're – they're too fast!" the chief engineer called out, as Suleiman stood at the helm, trying to steer a course between the approaching vessels and the rocks that ringed the continent of Itaria. "We're at maximum speed, and we can't outdistance them!"

"Prepare for combat, then," Stein said hoarsely. The cannon were loaded, when suddenly, the sky was lit up by an eerie orange glow.

"They've opened fire, Sir!" the lookout called out frantically. A shell struck one of the other Commonwealth ships, and its hull began to burn.

"Damn!" Suleiman said, between clenched teeth. "Return fire, gunners!"

Four shots rang out, and one of the Zion ships, thrown off course, struck a rock and began to flounder.

"Got them!" Stein said with satisfaction. "Another round, now! Prepare the lifeboats for any eventuality."

There was a deafening explosion, and Suleiman's ship began to pitch and sway.

"Sir, we've been hit below the waterline!" a voice called out desperately from beneath the decks.

"Impossible," Suleiman gasped. "They can't hit us at this range…."

Then the second blow struck, and the ship began to take in water.

"Damn it, sir," the lookout cried out, "they're attacking us with an underwater vessel!"

"Bloody Zion!" Suleiman swore. "Men, continue firing until we reach that rock over there – the Rock of the Pontiffs. Once you are there, abandon ship."

The next few minutes were chaos and confusion. Another of the Zion ships was hit and struck the rocks, but the submarine vessel sank the third of the Commonwealth ships, and as Suleiman's flagship drew near the Rock, it was clear that its days were numbered.

"Abandon ship!" Suleiman ordered. "No panic, to the lifeboats, and make for the coast!"

And after what seemed like scarcely a moment, he and his men – as well as Stein's – were rowing frantically for the shore, looking back at the smouldering wreckage of the ship they had just left…

xxx

"Sorry, ma'am," the Naval guard said apologetically. "We've received word of criminal elements lurking around the docks, and Mayor Saunders has suspended all ferries to Mann Island for the time being. You could hire a private boat, but even they probably wouldn't risk it."

"Dear me," Emily said, wishing she could use a stronger phrase. "Is there no other way to get to the island?"

"Trouble, Miss?"

Emily and Lavie turned around to face Lieutenant Reckland, who was in uniform. "Hi, Lieutenant!" Lavie said, brightening a little. "We need to get to Mann Island to see my Gran, who's not well…Can you help us?"

"Mrs. Lancaster's not well?" a second voice broke in, alarmed, and Lavie – who recognized it instantly – turned a deep shade of red. "Lavie, what's going on?"

"Hi, Ryan," she said, looking down at the cobblestones. "Well, Gran hasn't been well for a while…Mom and I just wanted to see her. We – won't be staying here too long, Ryan."

"I know, I read about it in the papers," Ryan said sympathetically. "I'd been following the case. I'm – sorry about your dad, Lavie."

"Er, thanks, I guess," Lavie replied. "So what are you doing here?"

"Shipping out with the Commonwealth to Itaria, to put down the Zion forces there," Ryan said, trying to keep the pride out of his voice. "The Lieutenant's just coming with me to pick up a few spare radio sets from Westchester. We're going down in his boat."

"You have a boat?" Lavie said, surprised.

"A youthful indiscretion," Reckland admitted. "I once capsized it as a teenager, and developed a mortal fear of drowning as a result – something that only years in the Royal Marines cured me of. I've now fitted it with a motor – a sailor like me can't afford to be out of touch with the sea, though he's stuck on land." He smiled.

"Say – would you like to, um, come with us?" Ryan said awkwardly. "The boat's big enough for four or five people, and if your Gran's ill, I wouldn't mind saying hello either."

"Would you, really?" Emily said gratefully. "That's very gallant of you, Ryan."

"Hey," Ryan replied with embarrassment, "it's the Lieutenant's boat, Mrs. Regale. Do you think we could, sir?"

"Of course," Reckland said, smiling at Lavie. "Hop on board, and I'll take you there in a few minutes!"

xxx

"What are you reading, Viola?" Henrik said curiously. They were in one of the Convent of Divine Love's Spartan dormitories, speaking in low tones - for Sister Miriam, their chaperone, was fast asleep. Henrik was sitting on the edge of his bunk, reading the last of his bedtime devotions from the _Itarian Book of Prayer,_ while Viola was reclining on hers, engrossed in her book.

"_The Bride of the Fulton Rains_, by Jeanne Leighton," Viola replied, with a laugh. "It's a very manly story, Henrik. If you get bored, I can lend it to you."

"Do you actually enjoy things like that?" Henrik asked. "I'm asking without malice – I'm just trying to figure out what makes young women tick."

"I see you have the makings of a future psychologist," Viola replied with a wink. "Well, on one level, they're just fun, I guess! But on another, they deal with what Professor Parker would call archetypes – characters who look like caricatures, but who also tell us something basic about human nature."

"Hmm, that's interesting," Henrik said. "Such as princesses in distress, brave knights, rogues waiting to be reformed, and so on?"

"And tall, handsome strangers with dark beards," Viola said dreamily. "You seem well acquainted with the genre."

"Oh, blame that on my dad," Henrik joked. "He keeps complaining about how people buy romance novels, but can't spare a dollar for his depressing books. Maybe I should lecture him about archetypes the next time he goes off on one of his rants!"

"I actually like your dad's books, though I can't read them on a bad day," Viola replied. "They're tough and rather bitter, but sometimes life _is_ like that."

"Did your dad also like reading?" Henrik asked gently.

"Oh, he did!" Viola closed her eyes. "He met Mummy at a library, actually. They were both trying to check out the same book. They actually fought a little over it, or so Daddy claimed."

"Aw, that's sweet," Henrik said. "So tell me, which particular tall, handsome, dark stranger do you have in mind?" He grinned.

Viola laughed. "Don't be so literal-minded, Henrik Spenson," she replied. "Though, to be honest, I did have a bit of a crush on Ivan, though it was hopeless – he was going to become a priest, after all!"

"God rest his soul," Henrik said soberly. "I guess we all have our ideals, until life knocks them out of us."

"Does it?" Viola replied. "I'd like to believe that we get to keep at least some of them. Like your religion, for example. Mummy would approve of you."

"Which of your ideals would you like to keep, Viola?" Henrik enquired.

Unfortunately for both of them, before she could answer this question, a man in monk's robes entered, carrying a book and a lantern.

"Good evening, my young friends," he said. He was middle-aged and study in appearance, with a tonsured head only partly covered by his loose hood. "We will leave early tomorrow morning for Issachar, so I would advise you to get a good night's sleep."

"Sure thing, Brother," Henrik said. "I was more or less done, anyway."

"I see that you enjoy a good story, Miss Benise," the monk said, looking at the cover of Viola's book – which depicted a young woman in flowing robes dancing in the midst of a thunderstorm – as if it was an interesting specimen in a zoology museum. "Perhaps you and your friend might enjoy this one." He held out the book he was carrying, and Viola took it.

"_The Story of the Journeymen_, by Aramondrius," Viola said, reading the title. "It looks like a very valuable book, Sir."

"Oh, don't call me sir," the monk said genially. "And yes, it is very valuable, but only those whose hearts are in the right place will appreciate its value. I trust you will find it profitable. Good night, my friends."

"Good night, Brother," Viola called out, as he turned off the lights, leaving them in darkness.

"Good night, Viola," Henrik whispered. "Good luck for tomorrow."

"Same to you, Henrik," she replied, with a sleepy smile, before falling into a deep and pleasant sleep, in which Ivan and Henrik were together engaged in a fierce battle to rescue the daughter of a Fulton chieftain.

xxx


	8. Chapter 7: Exile

**CHAPTER SEVEN**  
_**Exile**_

**ARAMONDRIUS, LINUS **_**(C.Y. 133-189)**__…._._The greatest of Galvenian philosophers, Aramondrius is only one of two men in the Commonwealth era to contribute to the Philosophers' "Canon", the body of writings taught in the great universities of Terra – the other being Karzai (q.v.) of the Fulton Republic. Often simply referred to as "the Philosopher", his work is used extensively by thinkers in all walks of life, from the scientists of Lorean and Fulton to the theologians of Itaria._

_The birthplace and origins of Aramondrius remain a matter of dispute, though he always identified himself as Galvenian. While his name is undoubtedly Itarian, it is unknown if this represents a later Itarianization of a Common or Varaldian name, such aesthetic changes being popular among men of letters in the second century of the Commonwealth. The tradition of his being descended from the Journeymen (q.v.) is probably legendary, though his brief history of the Order is still a classic of historical analysis…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Are you sure of this?" Makarov Juno said impatiently. They had been waiting in the woods outside Checkpoint Alpha for several hours, and despite the pleasantness of the mild spring weather, long waits always annoyed him.

"Of course, Juno," Jason Lugner said pleasantly. "Our quarry will pass this way, in a carriage carrying Mother Anna and a few King's College students, the latter serving as decoys. They foolishly believe that they will reach Lorean and find a safe haven with Marksmith, but the Zion agents will be waiting for them before they reach there. Fortunately, we are one step ahead."

"Here they come!" Juno hissed, as a carriage bearing the Marksmith coat of arms moved past them at a sedate pace. With a quick movement, Juno threw a grenade in front of the horses, spooking them and causing them to rear.

"Now!" Jason Lugner drew his sword and thrust it forward. The blade ignited into flame, setting the harness of the carriage on fire. The driver, still stunned by what had just happened, was quickly wrestled to the ground by Juno.

"What's going on?" two guards exclaimed, as they emerged through the carriage door, drawing their rifles. Juno quickly disarmed the first with a thrust of his sword, and then Jason launched a second grenade into the carriage itself, filling it with pink smoke. The second guard fell to his knees, coughing.

"We're moving in!" Jason said, covering his face with a scarf as he entered the coach, and emerged carrying a frail, elderly woman in his arms. However, as he climbed down, he was tripped from behind by a leg-sweep, and fell. The woman, who was unconscious but still breathing, fell onto the carriage steps, lying motionless there.

"Oh, no, you don't," Henrik Spenson said, drawing his own sword. With a quick slash, he pinned Jason Lugner to the ground and took his sword from him. "Viola, take Mother Anna back into the carriage! Quickly! I'll take care of these guys."

"Tsk, tsk," Juno said, pointing his sword at Viola, who was lifting up the aged nun. "So close, and yet so far." He thrust forward again, and would have struck her throat, but Henrik was quicker. He moved forward, the flame from the edge of Juno's sword licking at his wrist, and his sword parried the blow.

"Spenson?" Juno stared at him in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Makarov?" Spenson glared at him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Spenson, do yourself a favour," Juno replied, "and allow me to take you and that old woman to a safe place. You are walking into a trap."

"Nonsense," Henrik replied. "We're taking her to a safe place before the Zion do. You've got it all wrong."

But the second guard had, by now, recovered, and fired wildly at Juno. The bullet struck him in the leg, but he hardly flinched, and aimed another thrust of his sword at the guard. It struck him in the chest, knocking him to the ground, his uniform on fire.

"We've got to put that out!" Viola exclaimed, as she reached for the pots of water that were inside the carriage. As she passed one to Henrik, Juno pushed past her, and dragged Mother Anna out of the carriage.

"Leave her alone!" Viola cried out, and then it happened.

A strong gust of wind arose suddenly, knocking Juno off his feet, and loosening his grip on Mother Anna. He tried to hold on, but the hem of her habit tore away in his hand, and he fell to the ground.

"What – Go away! Please, don't harm Mother Anna," Viola pleaded.

Juno glared at her, then rose to his feet, and pointed his sword at her breast, but he had lost valuable time.

"No!" Henrik exclaimed, lunging forward furiously from behind Juno, and striking him in the side before he could turn and defend himself. He groaned, and fell to his knees.

"Viola, run!" Henrik said, as he lifted Mother Anna into his arms, and pointed her in the direction of the woods. "Don't look back! I'll stay right behind you in case anyone tries to attack." Frozen for a moment, Viola nodded mutely, then began to run for the woods, with Henrik close behind.

Juno swore, and held his hand to his side. It came away covered in blood, and he groaned.

"Curse you, Spenson," he muttered. "You do not realize what you have just done."

xxx

"Well, Lavie," Leah Mendelson said, as she handed her niece a glass of freshly squeezed grape juice, "how do you like it here? I realize it can't be as good as home, but you and your family are always welcome to stay with us." She was a large, motherly woman, who always seemed to be wearing an apron. _I wonder if she wears one when she sleeps,_ Lavie thought, and the image brought a smile to her face.

"Pretty good, actually, Auntie," Lavie replied. "Mom and I are very grateful – you know that, right?"

"Oh, Lavie, think nothing of it," Leah replied. "Father always warned us that Sigmund would cut himself one day, trying to be too sharp. And before he died, he told me: 'Look, Leah, you're Sigmund and Vincent's big sister. Vincent will always lead a quiet life, though he has too little ambition, and I have no worries about him. But Sigmund's too clever for his own good. If he gets into trouble, stand by him, my child.' He was a very wise man, Lavie."

"Sort of like my Gran," Lavie reflected. "I guess I miss her more than anything else, Auntie."

"Emily told me about that, Lavie, and I'm sorry. Take comfort from the fact that she's probably in a better place now, and that she'd be glad to know that your family is safe."

"I wonder what she was trying to tell me, Auntie," Lavie said, closing her eyes, and remembering the last time she had spoken – and would ever speak – with her grandmother….

"_She's…asking for you, Lavie," Ryan said, coming out of Anne Lancaster's room with an embarrassed look on his face. "She's quite ill."_

"_Thanks for bringing us here, Ryan," Lavie said, a tear falling to the ground as she stood up and walked into the room._

"_Gran," she said softly, sitting down beside her, "can you hear me? Do you want Mom here, too?"_

"_Lavie, darling," Anne replied with a smile – even near death, she still radiated the warmth that had often comforted Lavie, both as a child and as a young woman – "I'm so sorry. I wish I could have lived longer – perhaps long enough to come to your wedding, or to see my great-grandchild." She shook her head feebly. "But it wasn't meant to be, Lavie, and all things considered, I've had a good life. I've had Gerald, and Emily, and you – and Providence has been so good to me."_

"_Gran…" Lavie found herself unable to speak, and wiped away a tear, then sniffed._

"_Cry if you must, Lavie," Anne replied, "but remember that no matter how long it rains, the sun always comes out one fine morning, and then you will know. You will know that everything will work out, and that life will go on. Poor child, you haven't been having an easy time. But you've got courage, Lavie, and you can live it all down."_

"_Thank you, Gran," Lavie said, leaning forward. Anne placed her hand over her head, and stroked her hair._

"_Now, Lavie, I know I don't have much time, but before I say goodbye to you and your mother, there are two things I must tell you. Are you listening, sweetie?"_

"_I am, Gran," Lavie replied._

_Anne paused, trying to draw a breath with much effort. "We are living in dangerous times, my dear," she whispered. "Gerald warned me about this many years ago, but he could not get the King to listen. In these times, even good men will be forced to do terrible things for a good cause, Lavie – men of noble birth and honourable descent. And the trouble is that when a man does these things, he will not – no, he cannot remain untouched by them. Be careful, Lavie, and take care of those you love. Let that be my legacy to you. And if you ever need shelter, this home will always belong to you, my precious granddaughter."_

"_Gran…" Lavie tried to speak, then burst into tears. Anne comforted her, then went on._

"_And there's one more thing, darling," she said, holding her granddaughter's hand. "You see, Lavie, Gerald wasn't the most handsome man I ever met. Nor was he the richest, or the one with the largest estate, or the most erudite." She laughed. "But he had one thing, Lavie, that no other man had."_

"_And what was that, Gran?"_

"_Simply this, dear: he was the only one who stood by me and Mother when Father died, and we learned that he had lost most of his fortune in dubious investments," Anne said, with a laugh that was almost girlish. "Poor Father never had a head for business, unlike your father, dear. Most of the other men shied off at that, despite their fine feathers. Faithfulness is a wonderful thing, Lavie. You're a faithful soul, and I hope you find someone like that. Not the mysterious heartbreaker of a novel for young girls – no, the Infinity forbid that!" She laughed again._

"_I understand, Gran," Lavie said, embracing her frail form._

"_And now, could you fetch your mother, sweetie? I think the time has come."_

_The door opened, and Lieutenant Reckland – who was waiting outside with Ryan – motioned to Emily to enter…_

"Looks like she was quite a wise old woman, Lavie," Leah said, holding her hand. "And I can't think of a better way to leave this world than that. When my time comes, that's how I'd like to go – with David and my children beside me. And, if you could make it, that'd be wonderful!"

"Aw, come on, Auntie," Lavie said, with a laugh. "You're going to live to be a hundred."

"A hundred? Now there's a pleasant thought. Are you quite settled in, Lavie?" David Mendelson said, emerging from his den with a pleased expression. Like his wife, he was large of frame, but while she exuded order and efficiency, chaos described him better. His hair was untidy, his smock was stained with every colour of the rainbow, and a thin trail of dark paint had somehow found itself adhering to his left cheek.

"David!" Leah said affectionately. "Can't you wash your face when there are guests at home?" She wiped his cheek with a corner of her apron, and he sat down at the table next to his wife. "Good day today?"

"Pretty good, dearest," David said, beaming. "I've almost finished that commission of Josen's, though it's pretty awful in my humble opinion. Only an utter boor would ask for a portrait of Jadeed Bridge in full light. That bridge is an eyesore, except when the sun is setting."

"There speaks the artist," Leah teased, "though I'd trouble you to remember that, in our days of youthful folly, we had no problem meeting there even in full daylight."

"Indeed, we didn't," David replied, kissing her on the cheek. "And we're a long way from Jadeed now, thank the Infinity. My friends at the Ministry say that the war will soon involve the Republic."

"Really?" Lavie said, alarmed.

"Now, don't you fret, child," David said calmly. "Since we share a border with the Varald, it's possible that the Zion may try to attack there. That is, if they're not too busy giving those poor Itarians a hard time. Despite the Commonwealth's best efforts, a lot of the coast is now under Zion control, and those new submarines of theirs aren't helping. The Imperial Divisons are marching on Itaria City even as we speak, and though Hipper has deployed as many men as he can, it still may not be enough."

"I know," Lavie said dully. "Ryan's mom wrote to me, saying that his battalion was being deployed to defend the City."

"Ryan? Oh, that boy Emily was telling us about? Don't worry, Lavie," David said consolingly. "Sooner or later, evil gets its deserts, and the Zion will get theirs soon."

"And that's quite enough war talk from the two of you!" Leah chided them. "Now calm down, Lavie. David, could you fetch Sigmund, Emily and the girls? The tea-cake should be just about ready by now, if my trusty oven hasn't failed!"

"Of course, dearest," David replied. "In the meantime, Lavie, enjoy your stay in Indernes."

xxx

"So Socius is dead," King Arlbert said, as he donned his fur-trimmed cape and adjusted his crown. "I do hate funerals, but as much as I hate to concede it, he was a good Galvenian."

"It was fortunate that Mrs. Socius and I were able to see him, the night before he died, and that the Queen visited him today morning," Lady Anton said, with a sniff. "Poor Sarah, my heart aches for her."

"Oh, does it?" Arlbert joked. "I thought it was already frozen stiff by that Itarian religion of yours. By the way, Lady Anton, do you think the Seat of Itaria will finally fall vacant?"

"Your Majesty!" Lady Anton protested. "Jest about earthly things if you must, but do not mock God or his priests!"

"Oh, you're no fun, Rochelle," the young Duchess of Delanos twittered, then lightly stroked Arlbert's cheek with one bright pink nail. "Wouldn't you say so, my king?"

"What more amusement than I need, when your fair form is next to mine?" Arlbert replied.

"If you'll excuse me," Rochelle said stiffly, "I must go and see the Queen. Good day, Your Majesty."

"Don't let the guards behead you on the way out!" Arlbert bellowed as she hurried away, causing the Duchess to laugh helplessly.

"Ahem.." The interruption was discreet, but it was an interruption nonetheless. "Your Majesty, could I have a word with you?"

"Don't tell me you're going to take up the mantle of Galvenia's most boring politician from Socius," Arlbert protested, turning to face Sir Cornelius Fairfax, who had listened to this entire exchange.

"The King is right, cousin Cornelius," Juliette Delanos said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Don't bore him!"

"Ahem, Juliette, would you leave us alone for a moment?" Arlbert said reluctantly. "I will be with you soon."

"I shall be terribly lonely, Arlbert," the Duchess replied, winking at him as she left the room. "Do make haste."

"Hmph." Arlbert did not like being separated from his favourites at the best of time, and today was not a good day. "What do you have to say to me, Cornelius?"

"Let me not beat around the bush, Your Majesty," Sir Cornelius said. "Socius did not die a natural death. He was poisoned."

"He died of a broken skull, Fairfax," Arlbert retorted. "Who gave you a medical degree, anyway?"

"Your Majesty, please listen. Despite the severity of his injuries, Socius was beginning to recover, and could even recognize his wife and speak a few words. When he died suddenly, Trask and I ordered that an autopsy be carried out in secret…"

"Fairfax, I've just eaten some good bacon," Arlbert groaned. "Don't make me sick."

"…and we found that he died of massive bleeding into his brain," Fairfax went on, speaking firmly. "We consulted the doctor, who was puzzled by this and conducted a few tests. He concluded that Socius had been given a poison that thinned his blood, and caused him to develop a fresh haemorrhage at the site of his head wound."

"So who did it, Fairfax?" Arlbert muttered. "Who would have the necessary knowledge to choose that particular poison, and administer it to Socius while he was still in the Royal Hospital?"

"We suspect that a doctor or nurse may have been bribed to do so, Your Majesty," Fairfax replied. "I am informing you of this, because we will interrogate them and find out who was the instigator of this plot."

"Probably Regale, the clever dog," Arlbert joked. "Even in the Republic, he's pulling his strings."

"We do not think so, Sire. If we obtain a confession, what would you have us do?"

"Do?" Arlbert glared at the Interior Minister. "I'll tell you what you must do. Promote Sheffield, who is Deputy Prime Minister, to Socius' post. Do what you must. And now, kindly leave me alone. Poor Juliette needs to be consoled, and I need to recover my strength for tomorrow morning's moaning and wailing. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sir Cornelius replied, bowing low before leaving the room.

xxx

"Now, are you all clear about what you have to do?" Commander Chernev said, looking anxiously at the four men in front of him. They were encamped in an abandoned farm outside Itaria City, huddled around the fire.

"Hell, yes," Stein replied. "And I'm raring to go. Those fools sank my ship, and no self-respecting member of the CSF is going to stand for that."

"I am, Sir," Ryan replied, placing his hand over the butt of his rifle, his eyes going to the scar on his hand that was a reminder of their last battle.

"No disagreement here, Commander," Niazi of the Republic replied, and his fellow troop leader, Urquhart of Galvenia, nodded in reply.

"The situation is this. Our forces are now beginning to regain ground on the coast, since the Zion's reverses in the Varaldian war mean that they cannot commit any more troops or ships to this front. However, the Zion forces have now headed directly for the city, and have captured the Itarian Guard's garrison there. The remainder of the Guard has now regrouped to guard the Pontifical Castle of Saint Hermanus, where Pious XXI and his men still stand firm – in fact, in their latest broadcast on the Voice of Itaria, they strongly condemned the Zion for their warmongering and their bad theology." He laughed. "You've got to hand it to the old boy. Word has it that he's ill, but he's still standing strong."

"He does seem to be a fighter, Sir," Ryan remarked.

"Indeed, Second Lieutenant, indeed he is." Chernev frowned. "Now, this is the plan. There is a safe route out of the palace, with a passage guarded by our men leading to the coast. Niazi and Urquhart, you will assume your positions on that route, and defend yourselves against any of the Imperials who come that way. Stein and Eramond, your men will lead a direct attack on the Castle tonight. If you are successful, hold the Palace, and send word to Niazi and Urquhart to join you. If you fail – and it is possible, gentlemen – use the signal we agreed upon earlier, and your colleagues will rescue the Pontiff – and as many men as we can save with him – and take him to safety on Unity Isle."

"What if he refuses to go?" Stein remarked.

"He has agreed to leave if there is no choice," Chernev admitted, "but has urged us to make every attempt to prevent that. I myself will lead the fifth division, and we will join either the assault or the rescue party depending on how the wind blows. We move in an hour. Any questions?"

No response greeted him, except firm nods and determined looks.

"We're ready, Sir," Ryan said at last. "Count on us."

"Oh, I will, Eramond," Chernev replied. "I will."

xxx

"Thank you, child," Mother Anna said, stretching out comfortably as Viola placed a moist towel over her head. "You've been very good to me, Viola Marie. You're a credit to your parents."

"You're welcome, Mother," Viola replied with a smile. "How did you find out my middle name, though?"

"Oh, an old woman like me enjoys observing small details," the nun replied with a serene smile. "In a few days, I should be quite myself."

"Doctor Harding, the College's chief physician, says it's just a bad chill, Mother," she replied. "And it was fortunate that Henrik's friend and his men had been alerted about a possible attack, and were able to find us in a few hours. We couldn't have lasted much longer out in the woods." She shivered.

"Oh, the Infinity looks after his own, especially old, feeble women," Mother Anna said ruefully. "Sometimes I wish He had chosen a more worthy instrument than me for His purposes."

"You're not feeble," Viola said gently. "I was just as run-down as you when I had the 'flu last year."

"Oh, that's good to know," Mother Anna replied. "And don't take my words too seriously; I grumble too much for my own good. The Infinity knows what He's doing. It's just that sometimes, my child, keeping a secret can be a terrible burden. Do you know what I mean?" She looked at the girl meaningfully.

Viola blushed. "I don't know what you – Do you mean…" She paused, folding and unfolding her hands nervously.

"Oh, don't worry, Viola Marie," Mother Anne said kindly. "Your little secret's safe with me, and perhaps someday, when I'm too old to go on, I'll tell you mine. But for now, let's just keep quiet about it. Does that seem satisfactory?"

"Yes, Mother," Viola replied. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you, child," Mother Anna replied. "A little water, perhaps, and then I shall sleep a little."

A few minutes later, Viola was back in Professor Scott's room. With him were Henrik, his friend Armin – who had rescued them in the woods a few hours after their encounter with the cloaked men – and another man, whom she did not recognize, but who was wearing the garments of a noble.

"Ah, good day, Viola," Professor Scott replied. "Sir Cornelius was just listening to some of the details of our little adventure, and he has something to say."

"Sir Cornelius?" She curtseyed. "Pleased to meet you, Your Lordship."

"Oh, let's not stand on formality, Miss Benise," Sir Cornelius replied. "What I need to say is simply told. For the time being, Mother Anna will remain here as an anonymous patient, and once she recovers, she will continue to teach a few classes as a visiting faculty member, assisting Father Richard Laplace in his philosophy classes. For this purpose, she will use the name she was given during her religious profession – Sister Phoebe. We will also place a guard here, just in case."

"That sounds quite drastic, Sir," Henrik observed. "Wouldn't she be safe with the Duke, or at Lorean Castle?"

"Ah, but the question is, dear Henrik," Armin said lazily, opening and closing the flick-knife he was carrying, "can one be safe where there are snakes in the grass? I can't spill too many beans, but let's just say His Dukedom is under the microscope."

"The Duke a traitor?" Scott exclaimed. "Impossible, young man."

"He may not be a traitor himself," Fairfax replied, "but he is either being used, or has assistants who are playing him false. As Mr. Tamas said, I cannot divulge sensitive information – especially not so soon after Socius' death – but it is clear that one of the Duke's agents was involved in something very ugly indeed. We have detained the man, and he insists that he acted on his own, but I would recommend caution."

"That's right, dudes," Armin went on. "Unfortunately, he'd been blabbing a little too much in a tavern, and that's how we got wind of the fact that you'd be attacked on your way back. He did try a little diversion though; he said you'd be attacked in Lorean, while they actually struck in the woods. Still, they're morons."

"And we escaped, all thanks to Henrik," Viola said, looking at him admiringly.

"Not to mention a little help from the weather," Henrik observed. "God works in strange ways."

Viola was silent, then spoke suddenly. "But if that's true, Sir Cornelius, then can we believe _anyone_? If the Duke – who will soon marry the Princess – is now suspect, then is anyone trustworthy?"

"Oh, trust _us_, sweetie," Armin said, replacing his knife in his belt. "The Galvenian Intelligence Service are here for you."

xxx

"Damn it, they're getting away!" Ryan swore, looking at the fleeing Zion troops in front of him. "Fire again, at least once more!"

The CSF rifles rang out in a loud chorus, and a few of the Imperial soldiers fell to the ground, but the remainder made good their escape.

"Oh, don't worry, son, you did well enough," Stein said, standing at the other end of the bridge that led into the Castle of Saint Hermanus. "We've taken down at least half their forces, and the Palace is secure. But they're bound to come back. Now, those of you who can, surround the castle and raise the bridge. Eramond, take a body count."

After the casualties had been counted, the two Commonwealth divisions entered the Castle.

"Do you think any of them are waiting inside, sir?" Ryan asked.

"We'll just have to find out –" Stein began, then stepped back, as he spotted the shadows of approaching swordsmen.

"Watch out!" Ryan exclaimed.

The Zion soldiers were upon them before they could realize it, and it was a crucial few moments before they reacted. However, the Commonwealth men had numbers on their side, and soon disposed of their opponents without any major losses.

"How did they get in here?" Stein asked, looking bewildered.

"No time to worry about that, sir," Ryan said firmly. "There may be more of them, and they may have got to the Pontiff already! We have to hurry!"

There were more Zion soldiers awaiting them inside, and when they reached the threshold of the Pontifical Domus, the answer to Lieutenant-Colonel Stein's question was clear. The last of the Pontifical Guards were engaged in a desperate battle against a small group of Zion riflemen – along with some men in the Guards' uniform.

"Ryan, take them down!" Stein shouted. "Some of them have gone over to the…"

A volley of shots was aimed in their direction suddenly, and the fight soon became a free-for-all. Ten of the Commonwealth men were gunned down by the rebel Guards – some literally in front of Ryan's eyes – but they struck back fiercely, and soon the Hall of Saint Guibert was tiled with the bodies of Zion soldiers.

"That'll…show them," Ryan said, breathing heavily, as he knelt by the side of his platoon-mate, Mike Humphreys. "Mike, can you hear me?"

"I….guess so, Ryan," he replied, coughing up blood. "You'll….have to move on without me, old chap…."

After making arrangements to evacuate the wounded, they moved on, and arrived at the Hall of the Pontifical Council. The remaining Pontifical Guards helped to free the Archbishops from their fetters, while Ryan and his men moved ahead.

"We'll pick up the Pontiff, Sir," Ryan called out. "If we need help, I'll send a signal."

"Go right ahead, Eramond," Stein replied.

As they approached the door to the Pontiff's quarters, they were suddenly stopped by four men wearing the uniform of Zion infantrymen, but with no swords or guns.

"Step aside," Ryan said. "We've come for the Pontiff."

"The Pontiff?" One of them laughed harshly. "The Pontiff is ill, boy, and we don't care about him anyhow. He's just a decoy. Now step aside, if you don't want to get hurt."

"Don't bluff," Ryan said, aiming his rifle at the man. "You don't even have any weapons."

"Foolish Galvenian, are those crude weapons the only things the men of Zion excel at?" a second man scoffed, and in a flash, the four men had drawn wands from their belts.

"Step back!" Ryan cried out, but it was too late. A wave of yellow light struck the twenty men with Ryan, and they all fell to the ground, writhing in pain as if they had just grasped a live electrical wire – except him. He felt a tingle, a discomfort throughout his body, but was still standing.

"What the…."

"Attack again!" a third mage screamed, staring with horror at Ryan. "More power!"

But Ryan was quicker, and had drawn his sword. Lunging forward, he struck the first man in the chest, and he collapsed, bleeding from a wound in his side.

"You'll die for that, Commonwealth scum!" the second mage shouted, and fired again. Once more, the bolts struck Ryan, but he was not incapacitated. He drew his gun and fired, and the second man fell.

"Still determined to stand there?" Ryan said, pointing his sword at the third man's throat. "Now_ step aside_. If you don't, you'll join your two buddies there."

Still looking at him with shock, the two men stepped aside, and were quickly captured and immobilized by Stein's men, who had overheard the altercation and hurried to join them.

Ryan, in the meantime, had flung open the door to the Pontiff's chamber, and found him lying in bed, with Archbishop Polycarp Meissner and a nun at his side. He seemed frail and weary, but he smiled."

"Ah, the cavalry has come to save us, Polycarp," he said. "Galvenian Rough Riders, I presume? Or are you fighting for the Zion? Those four men tried their monkey tricks on me, but I'm afraid magic holds few terrors for an Itarian priest."

"Not a Rough Rider, sir," Ryan said, still breathing hard, "but certainly Galvenian. We're here to take you safely to Unity Isle."

"Ah, it looks like I must submit," Pious replied with a laugh. "Come, Polycarp, let us rule in exile, and hope that these brave men can liberate our country."

"We will, sir," Ryan said firmly, as they helped the Pontiff get out of bed. "That's a promise. That's what Lord Geraud created the Commonwealth for."

"Oh, are you an admirer of Geraud, lad?" Pious said kindly. "If so, I certainly am in good hands!"

In the meantime, Stein had arrived. "Great work, Eramond," he said. "We've captured the two Zin sorcerers, and we'll be questioning them quite carefully at camp. The news from the city is still not too good, so we'll proceed with the evacuation of His Holiness. But tell me, how did you escape that attack? Most of your men are still smarting all over, despite being given anti-magic shields before going into battle."

"Beats me, sir," Ryan said, perplexed. "It was as if I was – blocking their spell, or something. Probably a quirk of Nature."

"Perhaps," Stein said, looking at the young Galvenian with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

xxx

It was a month after this – and just a little more than a month away from the Princess' approaching nuptials – when Queen Katarina fell ill, though not gravely. This was a sore disappointment to her, for she had been looking forward to the bridal preparations, and now had to delegate responsibility to the few friends she had.

"I'm sorry your mother isn't feeling well, Carranya," Lady Anton said, trying to avoid the King's mocking looks. "It looks like I'll have to take you to your appointment at the dressmaker's today."

"Why can't the dressmaker come here?" King Arlbert asked, twirling his moustache. "After all, he ought to be an obedient subject of the King."

"Father, that is how she works," Carranya said patiently. Even at the worst of times, she found it hard to suppress a certain fondness for the King despite all his flaws – and she knew well that, though he tried to conceal it behind a wall of humour, the death of Socius had shaken him. "Besides, Rochelle and the Palace guards will accompany me, and it's just a short distance away."

"Besides, Your Majesty," Rochelle added, noting that the King was wavering, "Carranya's been cooped up all day with that awful man, Thomssen, and few things are more wearisome than a lecture on a lovely spring day. She needs the fresh air."

Arlbert laughed. "If you've decided to take Carranya away from that worm, your ladyship, I think I may have misjudged you. Go and make yourself beautiful, as they say in Zion. Speaking of the Zion, they have bitten off more than they can chew: the Pontiff has been safely brought to Unity Isle, they are losing their grip on Itaria with each passing day, and the Varald are also giving them headaches. I wonder Charlemagne hasn't worried himself into the grave. All's left for the fool to do is sue for peace, and things will return to normal."

"Let us pray so, Father," Carranya replied, smiling at him. "Come, let us go, Rochelle. Irma does hate to be kept waiting."

"Enjoy yourself, child," Arlbert said, with a friendly wave as his daughter and her chaperone left.

They had almost reached Gerius Street, home to Irma's House of Couture – the Queen's official dressmakers – when they were stopped by a man in police uniform.

"Destination, please?" he said, holding up his hand.

"Goodness, this is the Queen's own carriage!" Lady Anton said exasperatedly. "Really, Sir Cornelius and his safety measures…."

Carranya's head emerged from behind the curtains on the carriage door. "We're headed for Irma's shop, Officer," she explained. "There are three guards with us."

"Oh, what a pity," the man said. He waved, and suddenly the carriage was surrounded by five more men in uniform.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carranya said, displeased. "Guards, please…."

But before she could finish speaking, one of the men had lobbed a grenade at the carriage, and then a second one. The horses stood still, frozen with fear, and two others, trying to board the carriage, engaged the Palace guards in combat. A third man, pushing his way past the duelling guards, entered the carriage, pointing his pistol at Lady Anton.

"Leave her alone!" Carranya said firmly.

"We don't want her, kid, we want you," he growled. Rochelle tried to throw herself in front of Carranya, but the man blocked her with a single hand.

Carranya bowed her head, raised her hands, and a ray of white light struck the man, unbalancing him and knocking him out of the carriage.

"Don't worry, Rochelle!" Carranya said, as she and her friend emerged from the carriage. "If we run for it, we can make it to Irma's while these villains are fighting, and I can defend you!"

Looking stunned, Lady Anton took hold of Carranya's hand, and the two began to run, when Carranya heard her companion scream. The fifth of the men had caught her by the hand and was twisting her arm.

"Let her go!" Carranya ordered, then bowed her head again. A second ray of light shot forth across the sky, but the man dodged it.

Carranya moved closer – then felt her entire body quake as a heavy blow struck her on the head, and she fell unconscious on the pavement. The last sound she heard was Lady Anton's screams.

xxx

"Don't fret, Juno," Jacob Lugner said, as the three of them met in their shelter in the mines. Juno looked at him gratefully. His wounds had healed soon, aided by the clandestine help of an Army doctor from Alton, but his failure to capture Mother Anna still rankled. "You did well enough, and she is safer at King's College than at Marksmith's mansion, where the traitors in the Palace might easily get at her. Besides, I have another mission for you."

"The latest news from Itaria is interesting," Jason added, setting down his newspaper. "While the Zion and the CSF are still eyeball-to-eyeball, the Pontiff has escaped – and all thanks to our mutual friend Ryan Eramond. Hipper has even cited him for bravery at the Commonwealth, much to Lucan's discomfiture."

"Is he going to betray the Pontiff now?" Juno said sarcastically.

"Calm down, Juno," Lugner replied. "He is not yet a traitor, regardless of how much you dislike him. It is just that there is treachery in his bloodline, and it might manifest itself given the right temptation."

"What do you mean?" Juno said, puzzled.

"Here, take this," Lugner replied, handing him a small book. "I hope you can read old Galvenian prose."

Juno looked at the title: _Aramondrius Unveiled: The True Story of Indernes_. "If this is a storybook, Jacob Lugner, I have no time for stories. Fairy tales are for cowards who cannot face the realities of life."

"Oh, it's a true story, Juno," Jason said with a smile. "It's one that we've studied carefully for a long time. But enough of that topic for now, I need to brief you on your next mission. You need to head across Alpha, and to the woods outside Darington – a forest known as Linois' Glade."

"Darington?" Juno frowned. "And what awaits me there?"

"A beautiful young woman, Juno," Jason said teasingly, then laughed. "Oh, I forgot, you only have eyes for one woman in this world."

"What are you talking about?" Juno said, glaring at Jason.

"Oh, Juno, we've had an eye on you for a long time, and Jacob and I do our homework pretty carefully," Jason said, in an affectionate, elder-brotherly tone. "We can't promise you everything, but if you do not fail us, we know many ways of showing our gratitude."

"Do not fence with Makarov Juno, Jason," Juno said, closing his eyes and clenching his fist. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's very simple, Juno," Jacob Lugner replied. "You have to rescue the Princess."

xxx


	9. Chapter 8: Bloodlines

**CHAPTER EIGHT**  
_**Bloodlines**_

**DARINGTON**_…._._The critical position of Darington between Galvenia and the Zion Empire, and the accidents of its geography - particularly the fact that it lies adjacent to the Corridor of Arustus, one of the few openings onto the coastline in what is otherwise hilly or rocky terrain – has made it a crucial military outpost in the past, though it has been demilitarized under the current regime. Adding to its strategic appeal is the fact that, on its other three sides, it is surrounded by dense woods, the so-called Glades of Linois, which are noted for their rich flora and fauna…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Where am I?" Princess Carranya said, opening her eyes. The sour smell of Shagath Worm oil was still in her nostrils, and all she could see around her was woodland and tall trees. She tried to stand, and realized that she was lying on a simple cot, covered by a rough blanket, inside a tent. Two men were looking at her, but neither seemed particularly hostile.

"Oh, this is a quiet, romantic spot," one of the men replied. "Good morning, Princess. I trust you had a refreshing little nap."

"I would appreciate a more precise answer," she retorted. "And where is Rochelle? Did you harm her?"

"Lady Anton?" The second man, tall and yellow-haired like his friend, but with a stronger face and jaw, beamed at her. "As far as I know, she was left unharmed, though she did keep screaming quite a bit." He laughed – a deep, friendly laugh, one that Carranya found appealing despite the fact that these men were, to all appearances, her abductors. "I'm glad you're not being hysterical, Princess."

"What good would that do?" Carranya replied, trying hard to stifle the thoughts that rose within her. Strangely, her main concern was not her safety – for she was clearly not in immediate danger – but the fact that she had, somehow, been delivered from her approaching marriage.

"I see Galvenia has a very sensible future monarch," the first man replied. "Now, let me explain the situation, Princess. We are members of the Zion Special Forces. King Arlbert, your father, has deeply offended our Council of Viceroys by sending several of his men to help the Commonwealth in Itaria, with the result that our forces there are not having an easy life. As a result, he has instructed us to arrange for, shall we say, a little vacation for you."

Carranya shivered. "But do you not realize that such an act will only further strain the alliance between our nations? Why does the Emperor choose such an undignified way to prove his point?" she said quietly.

"Oh, the Emperor's a dead man clinging to his last few breaths," the second man said ruefully. "And unfortunately, with no clear lineal descendant – his daughter, unlike you, cannot inherit – we're facing a pretty mess there. Three factions of nobles are fighting over the succession, but none of them has a rock-solid claim. The Council of Viceroys is currently the _de facto_ ruler, as per the provisions of Linois' Constitution, and if they tell us to be undignified, we have to obey. It's nothing personal, Princess. I realize we're robbing you of the romance of a late-spring wedding, but if your father is reasonable, we'll release you as soon as possible."

"I presume you want him to withdraw his men from the Commonwealth Forces," Carranya said. "Is there anything else you want him to do?"

"Yes, in fact, we would like it if those same forces fought on our side, and not _against_ us," the first agent replied. "But I'll leave the formal request to the Council. For the moment, Princess, enjoy your stay here. Do not try to escape, because these woods are a bigger maze than the one in your Palace Gardens, and the Garun wolf enjoys prowling around in packs at night. Stay close to camp, and you'll have no trouble."

"How kind of you," Carranya replied ironically. "I see I am in good hands."

She yawned, and felt her limbs give way under her.

"Oh, that's just the Shagath oil," the second man apologized. "Rest a little more, Princess, and maybe we can continue this discussion a little later."

Carranya would have protested, but she was too weary to do so. She lay down and covered herself with the blanket, closing her eyes, with just one thought coming to her mind as she fell asleep.

_Ryan_, she thought. _Ryan, save me…_

_xxx_

"Bloody Zion!" David Mendelson swore, entering the dining-room and throwing a newspaper down on the table. "Can't they leave us alone? Aren't Itaria and the Varald enough for them?"

"David," Leah said sternly, "don't swear in front of women, especially noblewomen like your niece and her mother."

"What happened, Uncle David?" Lavie asked, concerned by the worried look on his face.

"Some clowns just blew up a Commonwealth trade office in Jadeed," he said, "and the whole incident is quite mysterious. A few hours after the bombing, a man was found dead near the Zion embassy. He seemed to have died of electrical burns, and he was carrying identification papers that were obviously faked."

"Hmm," Sigmund said, sipping his black tea – his doctors were keeping him on a careful diet, much to his chagrin. "That sounds like Almonth Jackass and his War Pigeons, as my pater used to call them. Attacking Commonwealth posts was their style."

Lavie giggled. "Very funny, Daddy," she replied.

"Electrical burns?" Leah shook her head. "I remember once getting a mild shock from a toaster that David bought at Jadeed. It wasn't very pleasant."

"I presume that the dead man is the suspect," Sigmund said. "But why blame the Zion? For all we know, the man could be a discontented pro-Varaldian – there are some of them in your country, David – and he sees the Zion and Commonwealth as enemies. Perhaps he was going to bomb the embassy."

"Ah, Sigmund, you Galvenians are clever, but there are some things that we learn naturally, living at Indernes," David replied. "A man doesn't die of electrocution that easily, and certainly not in an open street. The body was still warm when the Jadeed police found him. Mark my words, it was thunder."

"You mean lightning, surely," Emily said. "But how could he be struck by lightning in such warm weather?"

"Ah, you Galvenians," David said with an indulgent smile. "I wasn't referring to the weather, Emily. I was referring to magic."

"Magic?" Lavie replied, her eyes open wide. "You mean, like the Journeymen and stuff?"

"Indernes was where the Journeymen were cut down to a man – and that's an interesting story in itself, Lavie," Leah said. "Don't get David on the topic, though, or he won't stop."

"Ryan used to tell me about the Journeymen," Lavie went on, colouring a little. "About Nealus Hessen, and Kaleb, and Samath the traitor. I used to love hearing those stories when we were little."

"Wait a minute." Sigmund frowned. "You're telling me the Zion sent a mage to blow up a Commonwealth installation, and then killed him because, as bandits say, dead men tell no tales?"

"Well, the Zion are the only ones with a grudge against the Commonwealth right now," David said, shrugging his shoulders. "Seek those whom the crime profits, as the detectives say. And besides, after abducting your Princess, I wouldn't put _anything_ past the Zion."

"That was terrible," Emily said. "Poor Queen. She's had an unfortunate life, and her only child meant a lot to her. But we still have no word if the Zion are responsible."

"Well, it's only been three days since the news of her disappearance broke," David retorted. "The truth will come out soon."

xxx

Ryan stood on the deck of the ship, looking out at the sea. It was perhaps the only thing that could calm him at the moment. His thoughts were a racing jumble.

_Mike is dead._

_Half of my men are dead._

_Carranya is going to marry some Duke whom she doesn't even love._

_She's been kidnapped._

_Lavie's dad has been kicked out of Galvenia._

_Itaria still burns._

_And they're calling me back to Lorean now? Life is crazy. The world's gone crazy._

Suddenly, he smiled. _And to think that just a year ago, the most important thing to me was getting back together with Marianne._ _How far away that all seems now._

The Commonwealth ship would dock at Davenport for a brief while, leaving him and a few of his men – all Galvenians – there. In a week, he would be home.

_In a week, anything could happen._

_Carranya could be dead. Or rescued, and married. I won't think about it….I won't think about it._

"Ryan," one of the sailors called out, "there's a dispatch for you; we just received it over the radio. Could you come down to the Captain's office and collect it?"

"Sure thing," Ryan replied, welcoming the intrusion. In a few minutes, he was below decks in Captain North's office.

"Good morning, Second Lieutenant," North said. He was a tall, lean sailor who was seldom without his cloak, even in warm weather, and he wore the Galvenian colours proudly on his wrist. "Looks like you're going to see some action again."

"Really?" Ryan took the message from him and read it.

_Second Lieutenant Eramond_

_Proceed directly to Lorean for briefing with Trask with all your men  
Prepare for rescue mission  
Your furlough is cancelled as time is of the essence_

_Major Andrews – Naval Command_

"Looks like serious business," Captain North observed. "We'll try to get you and your boys home as soon as possible."

Ryan read the message once more, stunned by its implications.

_Carranya?_ he thought. _Infinity, if you exist, please let it be her. Please let me be of service to her again…_

_xxx_

"Are we agreed on the plan, Your Majesty?" Sir Cornelius said. "I repeat, we will only proceed with your approval. After all, the future of the Kingdom is at stake."

"Fairfax, for once, I am willing to listen," Arlbert said glumly. "Somehow, nothing, not even being the King, can console me over the loss of my child. Carranya – I remember her as a little mite, running around the Palace halls until those two sourpusses, my wife and the Anton harpy, put an end to that. She was such a happy child, Fairfax. What changed?" He shook his head helplessly. Though still the same imposing figure, much of his bluster had gone, and he seemed to have aged several years in the past week.

Fairfax and Sheffield, looking at their crestfallen King, wisely decided to remain silent.

"At any rate, Fairfax," Arlbert went on, "once she returns, we will postpone those famous nuptials. If what you tell me about Marksmith's men is true, I would not trust the man himself – simpering, namby-pamby fool that he is. My Carranya is much too good for him. Where do we stand on the rescue?"

"After receiving the coded missive from the Zion, informing us that they had the Princess and threatening us with the worst consequences if we went public," Sheffield said soberly, "we asked them for two weeks' time to recall our soldiers – and said that we would withdraw them from the CSF, reinstate them to the Royal Army, and send them to Darington as a gesture of goodwill, to join the Zion on the frontier. They have agreed to this."

"The two weeks are nearly over, Sheffield," Arlbert said irritably. "Is that all your famous 'plan' amounts to? Capitulating meekly? By King Richard, first we gave them Darington – now, must our Army be theirs to toy with?"

"Let me explain, Sire," Fairfax replied. "We will indeed send the men to Darington – they are arriving in three days, in fact. However, not all of them will travel the usual way. We will send, say, eighty of them, with a note that the remaining twenty are injured and need to convalesce."

"And?"

"The remaining twenty, Sire, will approach Darington through the hills, and attempt to liberate the Princess. She is being held at Linois' Glade, quite close to the town itself."

"Linois' Glade? Confound it, Fairfax," Arlbert thundered, "how do you know this?"

"Your Majesty," Sheffield said slyly, "surely you know that women can either be indiscreet, or cause the men smitten with them to be indiscreet. That is all I can say on the matter."

Arlbert laughed. "By Prince Derren, Sheffield," he replied, "that is a good one. Who are these twenty men?"

"We were thinking of using Second Lieutenant Eramond, Sire," Fairfax replied. "When it comes to saving Carranya, he seems to be a lucky man."

"Eramond? Oh, very clever, Fairfax," Arlbert said, his customary good humour rapidly returning. "Perhaps after that we could ask him and his men to give Marksmith a little present from me." He chuckled. "Very well, men, do as you have said. Just make sure Eramond does not grow too big for his boots, as Sir Prescott did."

"He is a commoner, Sire," Fairfax reassured him. "There is no danger of that happening."

xxx

"My, Lavie, haven't you finished school?" her Aunt Leah said, noticing Lavie's nose buried in a book, her face creased with concentration. "Are you planning to go on to University, now? Father would be so proud of you. He was always in favour of higher education for women, and he's the one who allowed me to go to art school." She was dressed in a formal coat and skirt, and was carrying a small cloth bag with her.

"Um, I'm not sure about that, Auntie," Lavie replied, looking up from her book with a rather embarrassed expression. "I was just reading this book that Uncle David gave me about the Journeymen."

"Oh, is that it? If you read more of that, Lavie, you'll become an honourary citizen of Indernes! They're crazy about Journeymen lore here. But I must say, you've become a lot quieter after you received that parcel from your grandmother's lawyers. What was it?"

"Oh, books and clothes," Lavie replied with a smile. "She'd always wanted to leave me some of her old stuff, because I loved looking at it when I'd visit her."

"That's nice," Leah replied. "I'd love to talk a little more, Lavie, but I have a lecture at the Art School in a little over an hour, so I have to run! I should be back in time for tea. Enjoy yourself, and don't get too serious, child. We love you just the way you are."

"Thanks, Auntie," Lavie replied, waving to her as she left, then opening the book again to reveal a second, smaller book within it. It was, in fact, a slim journal covered in black leather, written in a large but precise hand.

In her mind, she recalled the words of the note that had accompanied the journal – words she now knew by heart.

_My dearest Lavie,_

_This was your grandfather's. He wanted me to leave it to a suitable person, if the things it spoke of had not yet come to pass by the time of his death. I hate to place a burden on you, sweetie, but I believe you'll be strong enough to bear it. I hesitated a long time before fixing on you, but I cannot trust the other. Once you understand it, you will know what to do._

_Your loving grandmother._

The journal made little sense to her, as it was largely written in short, often incomplete sentences, with several abbreviations and dates often written in a different colour. However, one page was different from the rest. By accident or design, it was at the centre of the book, and it seemed to depict a series of events – though each person was represented by an abbreviation, as follows:

_L.A_ m. _C.K. c.y. 157 _iss_. M.A., C.A., J.A._

_C.A. _m. _M.G. c.y. 190 (A - E) _iss. _P.A., U.A., H.A._

_M.L. _m. _U.A. c.y. 219 _iss. _G.L., D.L._

_P.A. _m. _P.T. c.y. 220 _iss. _G.A., N.A._

_G.A. _m. _J.F. c.y. 245 _iss. _T.A._

_T.A._ m. ? _c.y. 268 _iss. ?

_T.A. _m. _S.R. c.y. 279 _iss. _?_

_? _m._ ? c.y. ? (the end of all we know)_

_(God help the Journeymen)_

"It makes sense, but only a little," Lavie said to herself. "The C.Y.s must be dates – Commonwealth years. Something happened in those years – 157, 190, 219, 220, 243, 268 and 279. I hope it's nothing to do with mathematics, I'm terrible at it!"

She laughed. "Let me try this…" Taking a sheet of paper, she began to write.

_This clearly has something to do with the Journeymen. According to Uncle David's book, they all died out in C.Y. 156, but Granddaddy's list begins a year after that. That must mean something._

She paused, biting her lip. A memory from a high school visit to the Hall of Heroes, where the genealogy of the Lionheart kings was displayed as an _aide-memoire_ to students and docents, came to her, and she started to write quickly.

_If I'm reading this correctly, 'm.' is 'married', 'iss.' means 'issues'. Children, that is! This is a family tree. It begins with someone called L.A., who married someone named C.K. In the family tree I saw at the museum, the guy's name comes first, the girl's second. Who is this L.A. guy? Is he the last of the Journeymen? According to Uncle David's book, that's not possible. Unless the book is missing out on something._

_Let's look at the others. In 190, L.A.'s son C.A. got married…_

Suddenly, a sense of familiarity struck her.

_G.L. Gerald Lancaster. Granddaddy was born in 220. If that's right, his parents were U.A and M.L – and he had a brother or sister with the initials D.L. I must check that with Mom. But it's not our family tree: I don't see Mom's initials, or mine, anywhere in that list!_

_And what does 'A-E' mean? A change of name? Some sort of code?_

She put the paper down and turned back to her uncle's book, then stared at the title page, open-mouthed and trembling.

_The Story of the Journeymen  
by  
Linus Aramondrius, Doctor of Philosophy  
Translated from the Old Galvenian by Professor Edgar Scott, King's College, Galvenia._

"L.A.," she whispered. "Linus Aramondrius. He wrote the history of the Journeymen. Was he a Journeyman too? He couldn't have _married_ a Journeyman, that's ridiculous! And who's C.K., then?" She smiled, and shut the book.

"I'll come back to it later," she said softly. "Gran, I know this must be important, but I need a little time. And maybe some help."

xxx

"Juno has left," Jacob Lugner said, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs. "Infinity, it's good to be on the surface for a change."

"Even if it's just an inn in Alton," Jason replied. "Do you think they'll try any more monkey-tricks like they did in the marsh last year?"

"I doubt it, brother," Lugner said soberly. "Our adversaries cannot be such great fools. They conducted a careful test, a proof of principle if you will, as all scientists do. Besides, why use valuable resources and energies when men will do just as well?"

"You are right, Jacob," said Jason, "but still – I am worried. First, whether Juno will get there first. Second, given the complications introduced by Fairfax, whether he will be too distracted to complete his mission. And third, whether these attacks on Commonwealth outposts are part of their design, or simply a coincidence."

"It cannot be a coincidence," Lugner said firmly.

"But why use such unstable elements? After taking the trouble to drive them underground in 253, when they violated their first contract, why use them again?"

"Because this time is – to use a trite phrase – the right time. Things are not what they were in 253, and they are weak enough not to try any foolish betrayals. Besides, they are probably only a minor part of _his_ plan, and he has ways to deal with traitors – painful ways. You read the reports of the dead man in Jadeed, did you not?"

"Thunder…" Jason shivered. "I hope they do not get to Juno. He is hot-headed and blinded by his desire for vengeance. He will suffer far worse things at their hands; they will use him mercilessly, and then crush him. Tell me, brother, what if Juno eliminates…"

"I doubt it will come to that," Lugner replied. "And even if he does, what of it? We want him on our side, or out of action. Preferably the first, when the right moment arises – but if it has to be the latter, brother, do not worry. We are not Zion or Galvenian kings, and in our dynasty, there is no need for legitimacy."

"You are right as always, Jacob," Jason said, looking with admiration at Lugner. "Let us keep our peace."

xxx

"I do not care what your Council says," Sir Prescott said firmly. "Our King has already committed more troops into our hands, but rest assured that I will dissuade him from doing so if this is your response. Either fight this war properly, or sue for peace."

General Okio glared at the young man in front of him. "Speak respectfully to your elders, Sir Prescott," he said impatiently.

"Speak for yourself, General," Sir Prescott replied coolly. "My Rough Riders are willing to fight to the finish, but your men are putting up a half-hearted resistance. Why did we not make a more concerted effort to recapture the garrison at Sylvania? Even a fool could see that if we could control that point, we could seriously hamper the Varald incursion on the western flank."

Okio flushed, for the young Galvenian's criticism – though couched in deliberately offensive terms – was fair. "Sir Prescott," he said slowly, "you are a Galvenian, and you do not understand the way we Zion fight. We will soon receive more reinforcements from the capital, as well as from your King. The Zion do not believe in taking undue risks."

"That's a nice way of saying that you fight like Itarian priests," Sir Prescott sneered. "And while we're on the topic, what is this ridiculous story I hear about the Crown Princess?"

"What story?" Okio said, looking acutely embarrassed.

"That your Special Service, or whatever it is called, had a hand in capturing her," Prescott said, with a steely look at the Zion General. "Have you forgotten the lessons of your Lord Geraud so soon?"

"I know nothing of this," General Okio said stiffly.

"Oh, deny it if you must," Prescott said with a cold smile. "But my Rough Riders can drink your Tactical Forces under the table, and I'm afraid your boys are rather indiscreet when they're in their cups. Now, listen to me, Okio. If I, Sir Prescott T. Chuselwock, do not receive a clear account of this, and a promise that the Princess will be released, you will have to fight without our two thousand troops. Is that clear?"

"You have no right to…." Okio said, outraged.

"On the frontier, no one can hear you bluster, General," Prescott said calmly. "If you want us to play cricket with you, release the Princess."

"What is she to you? Let the King ask for her," Okio retorted feebly.

"I am a loyal Galvenian," Sir Prescott said, "and even a military alliance does not change that. Think about what I have said, Okio, for the Varald are regrouping rapidly."

xxx

It was two days later that Lavie Regale received the help she sought.

"Trouble, Lavie?" David Mendelson said, coming into the room, his smock covered with fine dust from a sculpture he had been working on. "Is my book boring you?" He laughed.

Lavie hesitated for a moment, then made up her mind.

"Umm, Uncle David – can you keep a secret?"she said. "I've got this puzzle I need to solve, and I think it's about the Journeymen."

David sat down beside her. "Now, tell me all about it," he said kindly. "I love puzzles, and besides, there's little I don't know about the Journeymen – at least not since a feudal lord from Derna asked me for a portrait of Kaleb, and I ended up studying the Order to get some background."

Lavie handed him the book. David looked at it, turned pale, and let out a strangled cry.

"Where – did you find this, child?" he said, in a voice that was nearly a croak.

"Uncle David?" Lavie looked at him with horror. "Are you all right?"

"Deserts of Ghetz!" David exclaimed. "To think that the historians of Indernes have been searching for this for over a century, and a young girl who happens to be my niece should possess it. Lavie, can you keep a secret? Have you told your parents about this?"

"Not yet," Lavie admitted. "What's it all about?"

"Lavie," David said firmly, "I'm going to take you with me to an old man in the city, someone who can help you a lot more than I can. But I must warn you, child, that you're dealing with some pretty dangerous and valuable information. Tell your parents about this if you must – once we get back, of course. I'm not saying this to frighten you, but because you're here under my protection and I don't want you to get hurt. Do you trust me?"

Lavie looked at him and nodded quietly. "I do, Uncle David."

"Then let's get going," David said, reaching for his cloak from a stand. "Get your hat, and I'll take you there in my car."

Placing the book inside her pocket, Lavie followed her uncle out of the house.

xxx

Carranya got up, walked out of her tent, and looked at the setting sun. The week had passed uneventfully – her captors were unduly kind, and provided her with food, reading material, and even regular changes of clothing. They had clearly been instructed to take good care of her.

There was even freedom of a sort – she was allowed to roam around the woods, but only within a limited radius, which was surrounded by guards. The forest creatures and birds held few terrors for her, and her one encounter with a wolf had ended in an inglorious retreat for the predator, struck by one of her light-based attacks.

She had contemplated fighting her way out, but thought better of it. On one occasion, she had tentatively sent a small beam of light towards a sleeping guard – enough to stun, but not to hurt – but found it harmlessly deflected.

_It stands to reason,_ she thought. _They're Zionese, and they know more about magic than I ever will. Not to forget that until that night on the Paradiso, I'd kept my skills dormant for years – all because of….because of…._

She shivered. _No, I won't think of it._

Suddenly, she was aware of a rustling sound in the bushes nearby, and stood frozen in her position. Then there was an eerie silence, and she looked around, searching for anything out of the ordinary. She was about to abandon her search when he appeared. A man in a dark cloak – barely a boy – moving slowly, the blade of his sword glowing a deep red.

Carranya opened her mouth to speak, but the man raised his hand, and before she knew it, he was standing in front of her. He lowered his hood, revealing a determined, youthful face, with spiky dark hair growing out at improbable angles.

"Wh –" she began, but the man motioned to her to remain silent.

"Listen to me, Princess," he hissed. "I'm working with Galvenian Intelligence. A few days from now, a group of men dressed in Galvenian Army uniforms will cross the hills and enter this forest. They will rescue you, and your captors will put up very little resistance."

"What do you mean?" Carranya whispered, shocked.

"They are playing a clever game," he went on. "They will take you up to Checkpoint Alpha, and once they are there, they have nefarious designs on you. Whether these involve staging your death, or simply taking you to another part of the Empire, we are unsure. But when these men come, go with them. My men and I will be waiting near the exit of Linois' Glade, and we will bring you back to your father and mother safely."

"How – how do I know that this is true?" Carranya replied, in an unsteady voice.

"When you have some free time, Princess," he said, "look at this. It may give you – a fresh perspective on certain things." He handed her a small object, the size of a large marble. It took on a green hue in the setting sun.

"What…" Carranya began, but the man – with a quick bow – disappeared again into the bushes, leaving her confused, the Memory Crystal still lighting her face with its leaf-green glow.

xxx

Crossing the last of the hill ranges that separated him from Darington and the woods around it, Ryan found himself thinking of his mentor, Colonel Whitworth.

_I haven't even had time to mourn him properly, _he thought, his expression hardening. _I knew he had to go one day – Dad and I were the only ones he told – but I wish I could've seen him one last time._

"Do we move on, Ryan?" Sergeant Carpenter said, looking at the dark expanse of woods at the feet – so far, and yet so deceptively close to them. "Or do we set up camp for the night?"

"Let's move on," Ryan said, "provided everyone's up to it. Our best chance to catch them on the back foot is to use every edge that Nature gives us. Remember, these are Zion agents, and they may try to use magic weapons."

"We are," Carpenter replied, for he was a staunch Royalist, who had served in the Palace Guards before being transferred to the Army. "You can count on all of us."

_Ryan,_ Whitworth had said to him once, _it's not who your father or your mother are that determines the life you will lead. It's your own choices, what what? You're not destined to be a great soldier because your Grandpa was, nor are you destined to ride a desk if that's what your father is. It's in your hands, my boy. Win with pride, but if you lose, accept defeat. Fight with honour._

_I wonder what he'd say if I told him about the Princess_, Ryan mused, as they continued to march on. _Colonel, what you said may hold good for ordinary people – commoners like you and me. But what about Royalty and nobles? They aren't as free as we are. They have to live a certain way, even marry a certain person, for reasons that have nothing to do with them._

_Marriage?_ Ryan could imagine the Colonel's trademark snort. _Don't discuss all that namby-pamby stuff with me, boy. You are a man. Life is an adventure, a challenge! Not one of those dreadful ten-cent novels for girls._

Whitworth had never married – the genetic disease that claimed his life had dissuaded him from doing so, though he had certainly been a heart-throb in his younger days. _Or at least, that's what Grandpa told me._ Henrik had asked him about it once.

_That's a good question, Henrik,_ he had answered, and then proceeded to thrash him thoroughly in a training match. As Henrik sat on a bench, recovering, Whitworth had picked up the the topic again.

_There are many ways in which a man can leave behind a worthy posterity, Henrik. Marriage and family are just one of them. You are my legacy – you, Ryan, and all the other trainees who bother to bring your brains and your swords to this Gymnasium. I wouldn't have it any other way, what what? Besides, not all women are good for you, me boy. Some of them can turn your head._

Henrik had laughed, and at that moment, his father had walked in, carrying a suitcase.

_Ah, good morning, Mr. Delivery Services,_ Whitworth had said. _I was just telling Henrik not to trust women too far, what what? You'd know a thing about that, Theodore, I presume. _He had laughed loudly.

Theodore had replied with an embarrassed smile, before opening the suitcase to hand Whitworth a series of bond papers. _As well he might! The Colonel's a great kidder. There's no one more trustworthy than Mum, even if her cooking is…er…strange at times. And Dad knows that as well as I do!_ _Or maybe the Colonel's eaten Mum's cooking, and this was his little jab at her!_

He paused as his troop began the descent down the steep slope that would lead them to Darington.

_This is it,_ he thought. After a painful climb down, the men assembled near a clump of oak trees. They could spot two Zion guards near the path that led into the glade, and a fire burning nearby.

"Just two of them," Carpenter whispered. "No radio signals. Shall we have a go at it?"

"Never give up," Ryan said, and smiled. "Never surrender. We're going in. For Galvenia, and for the Princess. Benwick, keep half the men with you. Carpenter and I will lead the first raid. If we're not out in an hour, join the show"

"Roger, Ryan," Sergeant Benwick replied. "This ought to be easy."

xxx


	10. Chapter 9: Damaged Goods

**CHAPTER NINE**  
_**Damaged Goods**_

**EXORCISM**…._The term is derived from Itarian words meaning "to bind with a promise", and refers to any and all methods used to deal with suspected cases of demonic possession. (See GOD; INFINITY; DEMONS.) Though exorcisms of a sort date back to the dawn of humanity, the term is currently reserved for the rituals performed by trained priests of the Church of the Infinity…._

_Much lurid fiction and rumour has built up around the field of exorcisms, and many contemporary psychologists believe that the procedure is unscientific and exploitative. They view demonic possession as a sign of mental or nervous disease, particularly paranoia (q.v.) This view has prevailed in Galvenia, but exorcisms are still taken very seriously in Itaria, with Pontiff Pious XXII writing the Pontifical Letter "On True and False Exorcisms" in C.Y. 339 specifically to address the twin issues of skepticism and charlatanry…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

The old man stroked his beard, studied Lavie's journal carefully, then sat down at his desk.

"David," he said, with an indulgent look on his face, "things like this are the reason you still live in that small house of yours, while I have a bungalow in Jadeed in addition to this little place." He laughed. "Do you realize that, sold to the right man, this could earn millions of dollars? We're talking about one of the biggest unsolved problems in contemporary history – and one that at least three nations would pay good cash to solve."

"Call me naïve, Qasim, but I want answers – not money, and so does my niece. She was left this book by her grandmother, and we're in the middle of two wars. I'm not going to go and bargain with any government. By the way, how is your son?"

"Hamid?" Qasim grinned broadly. "He is back in Jadeed, running our garment factory. He took a trip to Galvenia about a year ago. Miss Regale, would you mind a little lecture?"

"Uh, no," Lavie replied. There was something compelling about the tiny old man in front of them, and somehow, she felt that he could help her.

"Let us begin at the very beginning, Miss. The Order of the Journeymen was founded about four hundred years ago in the Zion Empire, after the end of the Zion-Varald War. Without boring you with detail, the Zion were in a religious ferment at the time, and their mage battalions – who had failed to win the war for them – were a convenient scapegoat. Emperor Linois disbanded them, and most of them lost their protection at Court. Some, the 'hedge wizards', turned to a life of petty crime, or worked for carnivals. Others became wands-for-hire, bounty hunters with magical gifts. It took Nealus Hessen – a deacon of the Church in Zion – to convince Linois' son Friederich that the mages were a force for good. He permitted Nealus to form a guild, which he called the Journeymen. Among the foremost Journeymen were Kaleb, who saved a town from a mysterious plague; Samath, who betrayed him out of greed for demonic powers; and Horamin, a mystic who wanted to drive the Order away from its Church roots."

"I've heard of them," Lavie said, wondering where this was leading.

"After Kaleb's death, the Order was split by internal politics about who would succeed Horamin. Finally, the mantle passed to Kaleb's grandson, Jasen, who led the Order quite successfully, and he established a dynasty – ever leader of the Order from then on was his descendant. Things went well until the Commonwealth began poking its nose in things. They wanted the Order to answer to them, and Lucian – the current Schenk…"

"Schenk?" Lavie said, wondering if Qasim had sneezed.

"That was Kaleb's surname – no wonder he preferred to go by Kaleb, poor soul," the old man went on. "Anyway, Lucian, who was quite a headstrong young man, wanted nothing of it. He moved most of the Order to my country, the Fulton Republic, because it had the least Commonwealth presence and the least centralized government."

"Unfortunately for him," David continued, "he couldn't keep out of trouble. He fell in love with the daughter of a chieftain of Indernes, and began to enter the murky world of tribal politics. Soon, he helped his father-in-law establish a virtual fortress over here, and had his men block all the roads to the rest of the country. Well, though we're as federal as federal can be, no Premier was going to stand for secession – and besides, he was hurting trade. Trade is our local god, Lavie." He chuckled.

"The long and the short of it is," Qasim continued, "that in the year 156, after all negotiations broke down, Premier Elijah sent the Republican legions to besiege Indernes. The citizens, tired of the chieftain's rule – he had crossed the line into full-blown megalomania, and was now calling himself 'the Duke' – helped the legionaries get in, and after months of battle, Elijah's forces recaptured Indernes and had the Journeymen executed – every manjack of them – for sedition. And there, to most historians, ends the story. Aramondrius wrote a touching book about them, and they entered the realm of legend."

"So what really happened?" Lavie said, leaning forward.

"You are intelligent, Miss," Qasim said, beaming at her. "There were persistent rumours that, while Lucien and his men – including his sons – all died, his daughter survived. Very little is known about her, because all the records of Indernes went up in flames during the siege. However, the most reliable rumours – if rumours can be reliable – claim that her name was Sheila or Celia, and that she married a Galvenian."

"Celia – C., then? You mean Lucien's daughter married Aramondrius and settled in Galvenia?"

"Ahem, not so fast, Miss Regale! But that is, indeed, what those of us who are Journeymen buffs all suspect. My good friend Colin Erasmus of Galvenia has also done some work on the same lines, and he feels that a lot of Aramondrius' history – including his apologia for Lucien – was written based on his wife's account. This diary, if it is accurate – and if our surmise about Aramondrius is true – traces the bloodline of the unfortunate Lucien up to the present day."

"And Granddaddy's a descendant of his!" Lavie said, with a look of amazement on his face. "I checked out those initials with Mom – I didn't tell her what for, of course – and she said that his father's name was Michael, and that he had a little sister, Dorothy, who died young giving birth to a baby."

"That would explain his own knowledge of the family tree, Miss," Qasim reflected. "But it's the end of that tree that bothers me."

"What about the note next to C.A.? The one about the letters A and E?" Lavie asked.

"Oh, that's not too hard to explain," Qasim replied. "Though he is revered now, Aramondrius wasn't exactly popular in Galvenia in his day – people thought he was too close to the Zion and the Church of the Infinity, and he died in relative obscurity. His children probably changed their surname to something quiet and Galvenian, such as Edwards or Eastman." He chuckled. "Or any name beginning with E, it's anyone's guess. None of them ever became famous, so that detail is lost to history. Besides, records weren't kept that carefully in those days."

"Gran might have known," Lavie said ruefully, "but I can't ask her now."

"Anyway, that's a peripheral detail. Your grandfather, judging by you, must have been an intelligent and rational man."

"Well, he was a judge," Lavie said, blushing at the compliment. "He was in the Army for a short while, then studied law, and then married Gran and set up practice in Westchester. He became a judge a little after Mom was born."

"Exactly. Now a man of that sort deals in _evidence._ He is unlikely to write about the end of the world unless he believes he has found something truly significant. Miss Regale, do you have any idea who T.A. might be?"

"The last man on the list?"

"That's right. We have some information about him: his father's name begins with a G, he was married twice – the second time to someone named S.R. – and he has at least two children. Going by your grandfather's notes, the second of those children is married. Do you know anyone who fits that description?"

Lavie shook her head. "Offhand, no," she said. "I know a couple of people who are divorced – for example, Marianne's father – and his name begins with an R. But even if we find out who it is, what does it matter?"

"Miss Regale," Qasim said, and he now looked intently at her, the pleasant façade gone. "That man – or his child – is the last of the Journeymen. He may have magical powers of his own. He may have access to records or magical lore that the Zion would kill for. And given the mysterious deaths of Koketsu, Prince Wilhelm and your Socius, I am afraid. I am very afraid. Lucien, remember, flirted with the darker side of his power. This man may have gone further."

"You mean…." Lavie shuddered.

"It is just a surmise, but your grandfather would not be dramatic if there was no cause for concern, Miss Regale," Qasim said, shaking his head. "If that man is still alive, then he is dangerous."

xxx

"We've got them all, Ryan!" Sergeant Carpenter called out exultantly. "By gum, they hardly had the time to put up a fight."

And indeed, in a quick sweep, the twenty Zion agents had been rapidly caught in a net of their own making. Armed with superior maps and better weapons, Ryan's men had not even needed the support of Benwick's division to completely secure the camp. One of his men was seriously injured, but so were five of the Zion, and the rest were captive.

"The Princess must be this way," Benwick said, as his men sealed the entrance. "Ryan, you go ahead. Geoff and I will guard your back."

As he went deeper into the woods, he came upon a tent guarded by two men. With two quick, ruthless rounds of fire, they were disabled, and Ryan moved into the tent. She was sitting on her bunk, her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed. Ryan caught his breath, then entered, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

_I will protect her._

"Princess?" Ryan said. "Princess, it's us. The Galvenian Army. We're here to take you home."

Carranya stood up and stared at Ryan with surprise and dismay. "Ryan?" She shook her head. "No, no….it can't be true. He must have lied…."

"What can't be, Princess?" he said gently.

In hushed tones, Carranya narrated her encounter with the spiky-haired man. Ryan nodded darkly, then took her hand.

"Carranya," he said calmly, "that man is a criminal. His name is Makarov Juno, and he's under suspicion of treason himself. In fact, he was probably the man who attacked you and destroyed your Memory Crystal at Davenport Beach."

Carranya stared at him, wide-eyed. "Sweet Infinity, I do believe that you're right," she gasped. "We must leave here before he comes back!"

"No fears, Princess," Ryan replied. "We've got fifty men here, and plenty of weapons. He's one jackass with a fancy sword. He hasn't got a chance."

Carranya smiled. "I trust you, Ryan," she whispered. "I trust you completely. Come, take me home…"

Before she could say anything further, they were interrupted by the sound of screams and gunfire outside. Ryan, drawing his own rifle, rushed out of the tent, motioning to two of his men to guard the Princess, and stared in horror at the scene before him…

Smoke filled the air. The bodies of ten of his soldiers – including Sergeant Carpenter – lay on the ground, and approaching rapidly were a small group of men bearing wands – with Juno at their head.

"Well, well," he called out defiantly. "I see you're a little early, miserable Eramond. Now step aside before I dispose of you as well."

Ryan clenched his teeth, and suddenly raised his hand. In a flash, Benwick and his men attacked Juno's soldiers from the rear, firing several volleys. Caught off-guard, the men retaliated with their wands, and the entire scene was chaos for several moments, with the flashes of rifles and the green and yellow light of the spells lighting up the night sky. Ryan, in the meantime, sprang forward and held off Juno, who was trying to enter the Princess' tent. The two men guarding her, struck by stray bolts of yellow light, collapsed.

Suddenly, after what seemed an eternity, there was a strange stillness, and he was left facing Juno, and Juno alone. There were no others left – not his men, not the wizards Juno seemed to have brought. The forest earth was a graveyard.

Juno laughed. "Ironic, isn't it, Eramond? A fight to the death. Come, now, let us settle our scores once and for all. For honour. For Galvenia. For love, if you know what that word means." He sneered. "And once I have destroyed you and rescued the Princess myself, nothing will stand in my way. Nothing!"

"You're insane, Juno," Ryan said angrily, still shaking as he looked at the corpses of his men. "You belong in a lunatic asylum. You're not human."

"You are less than human, you miserable dog," Juno replied. "Was it not enough for you to play at being a soldier, and to break a young girl's heart? I will teach you your final lesson, Eramond, but I will not kill you – I will allow you to live with the knowledge that you will never be anything more than a low-born, bottom-feeding animal. Come, defend yourself!"

"Sticks and stones, Luno," Ryan said, softly, looking at the light that surrounded Juno's blade. "Sticks and stones. Put that pansy pink sword of yours where your big mouth is!"

Juno thrust forward, and the fight began. Carranya, standing at the entrance of the tent, watched with horror. It was a fierce battle – the determination of Ryan against the almost maniacal intensity of Juno – and it only ended when Juno, ducking a blow of Ryan's, began to run straight for the tent.

"Carranya! No!" Ryan said, chasing after him.

Juno smiled, and turned back in a flash. He struck hard with the hilt of his sword, stunning Ryan and breaking his nose. Too stunned to react, he watched in a daze as Juno aimed for his side. There was a sickening smell of scorched cloth and flesh, followed by a sharp pain as the blade caught fire and pierced his side, just below his heart.

"Damn….you," Ryan said, falling to his knees. "Damn you for the murdering bastard that you are…."

"Not so proud now, are we, Eramond?" Juno sneered. "Now lie there like a good boy, while I fetch the Princess." He kicked Ryan contemptuously with one boot, then began to walk towards the tent deliberately.

_If you lose, lose with dignity._

_Save Carranya._

Summoning up the last of his strength, Ryan drew his pistol, aimed it between Juno's shoulder-blades, and fired….

xxx

Ryan awoke, feeling his entire left side throb with pain. But he could breathe, and his mind was clear. He opened his eyes.

"Where am I?" he said softly. It seemed as if a long time had passed, but his watch informed him that it was still night.

"We're still at the camp, Ryan," Carranya said, kneeling beside the bed on which he now found himself. "You managed to drag yourself into the tent after – shooting Juno." She closed her eyes. "I – I mean, I looked after you."

"Is my bag still there – the one I brought into your tent?" Ryan said, sitting up with an effort. "It's strange – I'm sore, but I thought he wounded me much worse than that."

"About that, Ryan –" Carranya blushed, and lowered her head. "I can explain."

Ryan stood up, feeling surprisingly steady despite his recent misadventure, and looked out. The bodies of his men – and Juno's wizards – still littered the floor, and Juno lay near the entrance of the tent, still breathing.

"I should just finish him off," Ryan said, drawing his pistol.

"No, Ryan," Carranya said softly. "We need to find out whom he was serving, and how he obtained such a dangerous weapon."

"First things first," Ryan said, shaking his head and opening his bag. "Thank the Colonel for this, but I actually had the foresight to leave some of my men up in the hills. If I call them on the radio, they'll be here in less than a day. In the meantime, let's just tie up this clown here" – he shot a murderous look at Juno – "and take him back to Lorean to face the music."

Carranya began to weep quietly.

"Hey, Princess," Ryan said, leading her back inside the tent, "it's all right. You're safe again, okay? I would never let anyone harm you. And certainly not that idiot Juno. I'll look after you until we get back, and my men would never hurt you."

She did not reply, but clung to him, leaning against the breastplate of his armour.

"Is this – are you upset about the wedding, Princess?" Ryan whispered.

"It's not that, Ryan," Carranya said in a choked voice. "It's – Ryan, I probably trust you more than anyone else in the world – more than Father or Mother. And yet – if I told you certain things, I couldn't bear to have you think badly of me…" She began to sob again, and Ryan placed his arms around her.

"Look, Princess," Ryan said, "I'm not exactly smelling of roses here. I've killed, I've seen my friends get killed. And whatever it is, I'll stand with you. Now why don't you rest a little, and as soon as my men get here, we can get going. There'll be plenty of time to talk on the way – for now, just take it easy. Everything will be all right."

Sitting at her bedside a few moments later, and watching her sleep, Ryan wished earnestly that his last words could be true.

xxx

It was a sad and sober Council of Viceroys that gathered around the table today. Their leader, Count Hunermann, was absent on an unspecified 'urgent task', and none of the news they had received was good.

"The Commonwealth has strengthened Itaria to the point where any talk of victory is purely academic," Baron Hunzicker, Viceroy of Issachar, observed. "We could raise the ante further, but that would leave us seriously exposed on the Ghetz border."

"The news from the Varald front is not much better, Hunzicker," Count Koenig, Viceroy of Eriksburg, said gloomily. "If things go on, I will soon be Viceroy of a province occupied entirely by the Varald. While we have superior sea weapons, and have worsted them in the few engagements we have had so far, we cannot win a land war without more forces."

"The Varald fight like the fanatics that they are," Baron Stansberg of Lesser Caledonia grumbled. "Worse, our attempt to put pressure on Arlbert has failed ignominiously; they have recaptured the Princess and wiped out our men. We dare not retaliate, because our southern border is pitifully weak – if Arlbert were not such a consummate fool, he would probably have recaptured Darington by now. Yet another of our clever plans which now finds itself in ruins."

"Even more disgracefully," Archbishop Gruner protested – he was present by a special invitation of the Council – "they have abducted Mother Anna, and set up the Pontiff and his men in safety at Unity Isle."

"You speak the truth, Stansberg," Baron Hussong of Zollern said, shaking his head. "If only the Emperor…."

But before he could complete his sentence, Count Hunermann entered into the room with uncharacteristic hurry, looking excited.

"Ah, our fearless leader," Stansberg said wearily. "What now, Hunermann?"

"My friends," he replied, heedless of the hostile atmosphere in the room, "I come now from the Royal Palace, where the Court physicians have confirmed a most extraordinary piece of news. The Emperor's ailment has not progressed as we feared it would – no, indeed, it is getting better."

This news had about the same impact as if Hunermann had suddenly hurled a grenade onto the top of the marble table. More than one Viceroy stood up, and every eye was fixed on the Chairman.

"Impossible," Archbishop Gruner said, breaking the long silence that ensured. "Are you sure of this?"

"My dear Archbishop, the physicians are quite certain," Hunermann said, and seated himself at the head of the table. "Come, my friends, now is not the time to focus on defeats. This is a good omen."

xxx

She told him the truth one warm night, as spring turned to summer, in a small valley between the hills and crags that he had traversed to find her. They had stopped for their final rest before the trek back to Lorean, and were already on Galvenian soil. Some of the men had made a fire to roast some of their provisions, and after the bulk of them had retired for the night, Ryan sat beside the Princess, looking at its glowing embers.

"Ryan," she whispered, "aren't there moments which you wish – oh, how do I put this – moments that wouldn't end? Where everything seems perfect, and you wish you could just stay that way, and forget that there'll be a tomorrow?"

Ryan smiled at her. "I know a thing or two about that, Carranya," he said. "Life's like that, I guess. We have to be grateful for those moments, even if they don't last."

"I've made a decision, Ryan," Carranya said, looking at him with a nervous smile. "I'm – going to tell you the truth about myself."

"What do you mean?" Ryan said, puzzled.

"I mean – you've saved my life more than once, and you're perhaps the only person I can trust with….this burden I've been carrying, Ryan," Carranya said softly. "And I want you to trust me as well. Only…"

"Carranya, I already trust you," Ryan said warmly. "What is it?"

"Only – don't hate me once I've told you," she said, hiding her face in her hands. "I – couldn't bear it, Ryan."

Ryan took one of her hands in his own. "Look, Carrie," he said – and she blushed to hear him use the affectionate nickname, the one he had used on the _Paradiso_ – "I don't hate people that easily. Now calm down, and tell me about it."

Carranya looked up at the sky, and began to speak, holding his hand tightly.

"You've seen my parents," she began. "Father is – well, he is what he is. And Mother has been – how do I say this nicely? – melancholy for a long time, largely because of his actions. She desperately wanted to have more children, but the doctors said that wouldn't be likely. Sometimes I think she's – unhappy about the fact that I'm not a boy; she feels that her hold on Father would be stronger if she'd had a son."

"We always want what we can't have, Carrie," Ryan said soothingly. "Trouble is, we don't know if we'd still want it once we do get it."

"How true, Ryan," Carranya replied. "Because I was the only child, I was always watched very carefully, as I told you on board ship. I could have anything I wanted, but I couldn't have friends – and Mother was mortally afraid of anything happening to me. She thought Father would repudiate her if she had no living child. Even a walk in the woods, or a visit with her, had to be with guards, or a chaperone. Other children, even the sons and daughters of nobles, were kept at a distance, and even those who were friendly soon decided to stay away."

Ryan said nothing, but moved closer to her.

"I was alone, Ryan – of course, some of Mother's friends would spend a little time with me, and I had a spiritual advisor who would give me good advice. When I was fourteen, I discovered that I could….that I had a rare ability."

"Light-based magic?" Ryan said helpfully. "I guess that's how you healed me after the fight with Juno."

"You're right, Ryan," Carranya replied. "I was so glad that I could do that for you, after all you'd done for me."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Ryan said. "One good turn deserves another, as Grandpa always said. So what happened next?"

"My spiritual advisor, Father Thomssen, warned me not to use my – my gift too much, as it could be dangerous," she went on slowly. "But the trouble started when I was sixteen, and allowed to go to my first ball, which was a memorial for Lady Penelope's birth anniversary. Father and Mother had – a quarrel during the event, because Father was…."

"Flirting with someone? Never mind him, Carrie," Ryan replied. "What happened to you?"

"I was alone for a while, and I met – someone," Carranya said. "He was only a little older than me – maybe in his early twenties – and I hadn't seen him before. He was – he seemed to be – very kind, and I felt that I could talk to him, tell him things about my life. He was sympathetic. He was a young noble, and I – I was attracted to him, Ryan. You can't imagine what it was like – to just have a friend, after all those years. I met him again at two later events, including Mother's birthday."

Ryan frowned, but said nothing.

"One day, it happened. Mother and Father were on a journey to the Museum at Lorean, where they were inaugurating a new machine for recording and reproducing sounds. I was left with the guards and a chaperone, one of Mother's friends. That's when he came. He wanted to meet me, and my chaperone didn't mind, because he was from a good family. He asked me to take a walk with him."

"I left the Palace, and just as we entered the gardens, I saw he had a carriage waiting. He said he – wanted to show me the outside world, just for once. I couldn't resist, Ryan. I agreed. We drove to Lorean Glade, and we just sat there, talking together. Then he told me – that he loved me, and that he would do anything for my sake."

Ryan's other fist tightened, but he tried not to show any emotion.

"I told him – that I cared for him too, and he…" Carranya faltered. "He kissed me, and told me that he'd come back again – as often as I wanted. We got up, and began to leave, when – we found that there were guards waiting outside the glade, along with Mother. She was distraught. She took me into her carriage, and drove back to the Palace without saying a word. He stood there, calling my name…"

She began to shake, and instinctively, Ryan placed his arm around her.

After a long pause, she spoke again. "Mother told me that she was very disappointed with my conduct, and that I'd betrayed her trust," she went on, "and she asked Father Thomssen to speak to me. He spent a lot of time questioning me about what happened, then called Mother into the room, and that's when he told us."

"Told you what?" Ryan said, confused. This was not what he had been expecting.

"He told me that, for a Royal Princess to behave in this way, something was seriously wrong with me. That I couldn't have done – what I did, unless I was…" She struggled with the word.

"Wicked? Abandoned? Vulgar?" Ryan suggested.

"Possessed," Carranya replied, in the lowest of whispers.

"Possessed?" Ryan's eyes opened wide. "That's – that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Carrie! Your Thomssen must be a religious fanatic…."

"I – wasn't sure, myself, when I first heard it," Carranya whispered, "but I was so guilty about – about hurting Mother, that I didn't know what to think. He said it was a punishment for my father's sins, and that he would do everything in his power to – to remove the demon from me. He warned Mother that it would be difficult, but she asked him to try her best."

"I stayed for days in my room, with only Father Thomssen and some of the women at Court for company. Mother would come once a day, and remain only for a short while. He would make me pray with him for long hours, sometimes almost the whole night, and he also burned various herbs and oils, some of which made me feel ill and tired. This went on for four days. When I slept, I would have horrible dreams – dreams in which a demon was grabbing me, breathing on me, tearing my clothing…"

"Herbs can cause nightmares, Carrie," Ryan said, as she leaned closer to him. "That doesn't mean you're possessed. It means your Father Thomssen is a twit."

"Wait, Ryan," she said. "One night, I had the same dream. It was terrible. Then, suddenly, I woke up – and I saw him."

"Saw a demon?" Ryan shook his head. "Are you sure you weren't hallucinating? There are herbs that do that, too. I once read a book in Mr. Regale's library about them."

"Not a demon, Ryan," Carranya whispered, as tears began to run down her face. "Him. Father Thomssen. It was him. He was – touching me…" Her voice failed, and she continued to weep silently.

Despite his short and eventful career in the Army – or his fights with Juno – Ryan had never, until that day, felt the urge to kill a man in cold blood. On that night, for the first time, he did. If Father Thomssen had stood before him at that moment, he would have gunned him down without the slightest compunction.

"Wh – what happened then, Carrie?" Ryan whispered, afraid to ask, but at the same time wanting to know.

"I screamed. I screamed loudly, and the women who were outside came rushing in – thank God, they came…" Carranya replied. "He told them I'd had a nightmare, but that I was more or less cured, and that they could go now. I began to cry. I said I didn't want to be alone – that I wanted Mother, or at least some of them, to stay with me. I was terrified, Ryan. I wanted to escape, to run out of the room, but I was too weak. He wouldn't let me eat, often, saying that fasting would drive the demon out."

"The only demon in this story is your Thomssen," Ryan said angrily. "Why didn't you tell your father or mother about this?"

"Father Thomssen asked the women to wait for a few moments outside," Carranya went on, shaking her head. "Then he told me not to say a word of this to anyone. He said that even the boy I'd met had been – bribed by my parents, so that he'd never see me again. He said that no one would believe me, because I had no virtue any more – by running away with that boy, I'd soiled my reputation. Damaged. That's what he called me, Ryan. Damaged goods. It's what I am…"

Ryan held her close to him, until her sobs had subsided a little.

"Carrie, listen to me," he said patiently but firmly, as if he were addressing one of the soldiers under him. "You are _not_ 'damaged'. You are _not_ 'spoiled'. Repeat that to yourself twenty times – a hundred if you must – every night before you go to bed. In your story, there's a criminal and a victim, and you're _not_ the criminal. Listen, Carranya, I…."

"Wait, Ryan," Carranya said softly. "Fortunately, the next day, he stopped using the herbs, and I always insisted on having someone with me when he visited – at least one of the maids. I – I became paranoid, Ryan. Even a Palace guard, or one of the Ministers, would frighten me. I wondered if – if I could trust anyone. If they would – try to hurt me like Father Thomssen did. I couldn't tell Mother – it would break her heart, because she depended on him. All I could do was – take precautions. And he continued to be cold and hard with me, reminding me that I was wicked, and could be possessed again if I wasn't careful. He probably would have tried another exorcism after I returned from the _Paradiso_, except that some of Mother's friends persuaded her that it wasn't necessary. And he was right – I never did see that boy again."

"So now you know, Ryan," Carranya said. "When I met you, and when I saw the way you treated me, I felt like a door was opening for the first time in years – a door that Father Thomssen, and Mother, and even my friend had all shut in my face and locked, perhaps forever. I – felt that I could hope again, that I could trust again. I could face the next day without – being so scared. That's why I kissed you during that play – to thank you. But I'm still – not worthy to be a Queen of Galvenia, Ryan. I'm not fit…."

Ryan waited till she had stopped crying, then looked at her. His look was gentle and affectionate – though he still burned to strike down Thomssen with a single blow.

"Carranya," he said, "listen to me. I'm a soldier, and I've received wounds in battle. Being wounded doesn't mean that you're permanently damaged or unfit – just look at me! There are wounds of the mind as well as the body – that's something I've begun to understand ever since I started wearing this uniform. And we can be healed, Carranya. Humans are tough. We can get better. I can't speak for your parents, or that perverted bastard of a Thomssen…"

"Ryan!" Carranya exclaimed.

"Call a spade a spade, Carranya, that's what he is. _He's_ the one who needs an exorcism – followed by an execution, if I had my way. But speaking as myself – Second Lieutenant Ryan Eramond – I still stand by what I told you a year ago, Carranya. You'll make a fine Queen someday – you've lived through things that would have broken a lesser woman forever. As for that young fop who gave you up for money or position – he doesn't realize that he's lost something precious, lost it forever." His hand touched her cheek lightly. "Carranya Lionheart, no matter what some idiots might say, you'll always be precious to at least one man on Terra. To me."

Carranya blushed. "Do – do you really mean that, Ryan?"

"I don't usually say things I don't mean, Carrie," Ryan replied. "It's an Eramond family trait."

"Ryan…" Carranya leaned against him for support. "It's going to take time, Ryan – and once I return to the Palace, I will have to marry the Duke. I don't know how I can face it…."

"One day at a time, Carrie," Ryan said gently, stroking her hair as if he was comforting a small child, rather than a grown woman. "We'll cross that bridge once we cross those hills. And no matter what happens – even if I end up just the Palace guard outside your castle – I will always be there to support you. Do you believe me?"

"Thank you, Ryan. I do," Carranya said simply, smiling at him. It was a simple smile – a child's smile – and it seemed as if the reserve that she once had had fallen away. "Thank you very much."

"Come, let's get you to bed now," he said, helping her get up from the log they were sitting on. "You've had a long day, and we have a long march ahead of us tomorrow."

"Isn't it strange," she said, as they walked to the entrance of her tent, hand in hand. "I thought you would run from me screaming, and yet – here we are."

"Hell, Carranya," Ryan replied with a friendly smile, "it'd take more than that to make me run screaming, you know. We're the Galvenian Army…"

Carranya suddenly froze. "Did you hear something?" she said.

"Hmm? A faint rustling, yes," Ryan replied, looking at the bushes. "Probably nothing serious. If you ask me, it's one of the soldiers disposing of an empty beer bottle." He laughed.

Carranya relaxed and smiled. "Ryan," she said, "you can be so – so _comforting_, sometimes."

xxx

"Someone on business?" Theodore Eramond said sharply. "I haven't given anyone an appointment at home today, Sheila. Who could it be?"

"Dark hair, blue eyes, tall, rather determined," his wife replied with a smile. "He said he'd wait as long as you wanted, but he had to see you."

"Oh, I suppose this must be Government business," Theodore said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm just glad that Ryan is back in Galvenia. He wired from the Palace, saying that he'd probably get a chance to see us this weekend."

"Isn't that wonderful?" Sheila said adoringly. "Just think, dear. Ryan – back at home again."

"Not for long, given what the Zion are facing," he replied. "The boy will probably have to deploy soon. But I agree with you, Sheila, it's good to have our son back. Send this tall, dark, handsome gentleman in, so that I can deal with him."

A few moments later, the man entered Theodore's study, bowing as he did. Theodore took one look at him, then moved uncomfortably in his seat, as if shrinking from him.

"You?" he said. "What do you want?"

"I have heard," Jason Lugner replied, with an innocent smile, "that you are Galvenian's best delivery agency, and that you give satisfaction even if it involves catching criminals and traitors. Am I correct?"

Theodore frowned. "You'll have to ask – my son about that, honestly," he said. "But yes, we do keep our customers satisfied."

"Your son?" Jason laughed. "Ah, words, words. Such tricky little things. But enough palaver, Mr. Eramond. We have a little task for you."

"I will not be involved in anything illegal," Theodore said firmly. "Do you understand?"

"Let me tell you a little story," Jason Lugner said. "There once was a Zionese Emperor who wanted to dispose of his rival. Unfortunately, he could hardly kill the man in broad daylight, so he made use of an old ploy. He arranged for two of his rival's favourite foods to be delivered to him. Taken individually, each was harmless, containing only traces of two different poisons. But when the two poisons mixed in the unfortunate man's stomach, he was well and truly finished. In such a case, Mr. Eramond, no guilt could be assigned, and that Emperor reigned for many, many years."

"I will not help you kill anyone," Theodore said softly. "I know that I owe you – certain things, but I am not a murderer. The Eramond men have never been criminals."

"Ah, but what is a crime, Mr. Eramond?" Jason said softly. "Believe me, I know the story of the Eramond men as well as you do. When a crime is committed at the Government's orders, or for the good of the country, is it a crime? When a soldier kills an enemy in combat, is it murder? When an Intelligence agent is forced to dispose of an assassin, is he an assassin himself?"

"Enough!" Theodore said sharply. "Tell me what you want, Jason."

"Nothing, really," he said, still smiling. "A trifle. I want you to deliver this package to a certain nobleman – one who sees wedding bells ringing in his future." He laughed – a pleasant, light laugh. "Don't you believe in wedding presents, Mr. Eramond?"

"You mean the Duke of Marksmith," Theodore said slowly. "If there is anything illegal or poisonous inside it…."

"Only a Memory Crystal, my dear Mr. Eramond," Jason replied. "You can weigh it if you want. And while we are on the topic, if you fail to oblige us, the Interior Minister will be quite interested in some of the deliveries you have made."

Theodore turned pale, and a drop of perspiration trickled down his forehead.

"You see, Mr. Eramond, Sigmund Regale was loyal to you, and named no names. But I'm afraid not all of us are repentant alcoholics. And that is not all. We have an inventory of materials stored in your warehouse in the year 288; we have certain documents obtained from the offices of the Justice of the Peace at Darington…."

Theodore rose from his chair. "You devil!" he said, between clenched teeth. "If you think you can blackmail me, you are mistaken. As for your – other threats, I am not a dissembler like you. My wife knows everything."

"Ah, but does your son know?" Jason said lazily, drawing a pocket-knife from his coat. "Does Ryan know, Mr. Eramond?"

"You would not dare…." Theodore said, shaking his head.

"When my country is in danger, Mr. Eramond, I would. Now here's your assignment." He took out a small package from another pocket of his coat, and laid it on the table. "Deliver it, and we can forget this entire conversation. Otherwise, I will send two letters – one to Sir Cornelius, and one to your boy, who is now a decorated war hero. Think carefully, Mr. Eramond."

"Very well, I shall," Theodore said frantically. "And now leave! Leave at once!"

"Good day, Mr. Eramond," Jason said, with a polite bow as he turned to leave. "It is always good to speak to a man of discrimination and intelligence."

Theodore sat in his chair, feeling faint and nauseated, as Jason Lugner left the room.

"By King Richard," he said quietly. "Father – forgive me, Father. Help me. What should I do?"

xxx


	11. Chapter 10: Questions

**CHAPTER TEN**  
_**Questions**_

**WAR HAWKS**…._Though this name has been informally used by several groups throughout human history – including the now-defunct Galvenian Exceptionalist Party (q.v.) – the most famous usage of this term was by a loosely organized anarchist group, led by the mysterious and shadowy figure of Almonth Jakov (q.v.)…._

…_.Though infamous for almost bringing about the collapse of the Commonwealth at the Battle of Chespa Bay (q.v.), this group is as mysterious as its founder. It disappeared without a trace after the decisive defeat its troops suffered there, though 'suspicion of being a Jakovite' (a War Hawk sympathizer) was a common charge in the show-trials that marked Russel Kievan's early rule over the Varald. During the Terran War, rumours of their re-emergence grew stronger as the conflict entered its second year…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

It was nightfall in the city of Indernes, and Lavie – after a friendly game of cards with her three young cousins, Judith, Deborah and Esther – was returning to her room, accompanied by her Aunt Leah.

"We're all going on a little outing tomorrow, Lavie," she said brightly, "and your father and mother said they would like to come, too. We're going to visit the Temple of Hermanus, which is just a short drive away into the next town, and we'll have a picnic there."

"The Temple of Hermanus?" Lavie smiled. "I think I read about it in history. He was an Itarian saint, right?"

"Sort of," Leah admitted. "He was the founder of David's religion – the Old Republican faith – as well, but the Itarians developed some of his teachings to form their Church, and they revere him as a holy man too. It's a very pleasant place, and there's lots of fine architecture. And paintings too, which is why David wants to take us there." She laughed.

"Well, that ought to be fun," Lavie said brightly. "Did you read about Ryan in the papers, Auntie Leah? It seems he was part of a mission to rescue the Princess, and he and his men will all get medals for what they did!"

"My, my, you seem to have stars in your eyes, my niece," Leah teased her. "He certainly seems like a very brave young man. Now sleep well, Lavie, because we need to be up a little early tomorrow, to leave before the sun roasts us all! Sweet dreams – maybe you'll dream of your Ryan Aramondrius, who knows?"

"Eramond," Lavie corrected her, with a laugh, and they embraced. "Good night, Auntie."

Still laughing, Lavie lay down on her cot, stretched herself out comfortably, and yawned. _Silly Auntie! Ryan Aramondrius, indeed. The two names do sound alike, though, so I shouldn't make fun of her. She's been so good to us all!_

She covered herself with a sheet, and closed her eyes, when it finally struck her.

_Wait a minute._

_What if that was actually the meaning?_

_A and E. Aramondrius and – Eramond._

_No, that's not possible. It must be a coincidence._

Leaping out of bed with a sudden movement, she pulled the journal out of her dresser, and turned to the page she now knew almost by heart. She moved her finger over the lines, until she came to the last of them.

_T.A._

_Ryan's dad is Theodore Eramond. Theodore Aramondrius? No, it can't be! And yet – _she looked at the next line. _T.A. and S.R._ _Ryan's mom also has the initials S.R. – Sheila Robinson. I know that because her dad, Benjamin Robinson, worked in a Government office at Lorean, and Granddaddy knew him a little._

Her face took on a bewildered expression.

_But the rest of it doesn't make any sense, _she thought. _Unless the first and the second T.A.s aren't the same person. Maybe Ryan's dad has an elder brother or sister whom I haven't heard about!_

Finally, she looked at the last line, and felt her heart beat faster – in the stillness of her room, she could almost hear it.

_But if this is true…_

_Ryan – is the last of the Journeymen?_

_Or – does it means that if he marries, his son will be the last of them?_

_He's dangerous?_

_I can't believe it. I won't believe it._

She tried to lie down again, but sleep was long in coming, and her dreams were troubled – troubled by images of men struck with lightning, and Ryan dying in battle.

xxx

"How sweet," the Duke of Marksmith said, admiring the Memory Crystal sitting on his desk. "Truly, though our nuptials have been postponed by this unfortunate kidnapping, Carranya's affection for me is deep and true." He smiled complacently.

"Do not be so presumptuous," Lady Rochelle Anton said, impatiently. "Consider yourself a fortunate man to be the future Prince Consort."

"Rochelle, if you're going to be such a spoil-sport, I'm going to ask you to leave," the elderly Duchess of Marksmith observed. "Wouldn't you agree, Scott?"

"Perhaps," Professor Scott said diplomatically. "I presume that is a gift from Carranya, Your Lordship."

"You presume rightly, my good Scott," Marksmith said. "And now, I must leave you. I have an urgent errand to run."

"Are you planning to visit the Princess?" Rochelle said disapprovingly. "She has caught a chill, from the exposure on those dreadful hills, and she will not be in a position to receive you."

"Sometimes, your Ladyship, I think you _disapprove_ of me," the Duke replied with a large grin. "But rest assured, I will not disturb her."

"Will you not stay for tea, my son?" the Duchess said affectionately.

"I regret that I cannot, Mother," he replied. "Duty calls me, and I must go. As old Karzai would say, if the man will not go to town, the town will come to the man. Farewell, ladies and gentlemen." He left the room, and his mother departed in another direction, presumably to give instructions about their tea.

"How amusing," Lady Rochelle said, looking at him coldly as he left.

"Now, don't be such a killjoy, Your Ladyship," Scott said gently. "I know you think he isn't good enough for your precious Carranya, but she has accepted him, and that is enough. Moreover, there is no cloud of suspicion over him; my friends in Intelligence tell me that they have exonerated him. Is that not good enough for you?"

"Perhaps," she replied, in a voice that lacked conviction.

xxx

"Everywhere I look around," Marksmith sang to himself, in a forceful but tuneless tenor, as he looked out of his carriage window, "love is in the air…"

He tapped the Memory Crystal in his hand, and a picture of the Princess appeared. She did not move, but she began to speak.

"_I will be choosing my wedding gown on Thursday at Irma's Boutique, and I would very much like to see you, my lord. Could you meet me in the evening there? I await your presence eagerly."_

"She called me 'my Lord', Hayton," he said to his manservant, who was seated quietly opposite him. "Is that not a delightful proof of wifely submission?"

"I'm sure no woman in her right might would do otherwise, Your Lordship," Hayton replied. "That Princess is a lucky girl."

"Indeed," Marksmith said, beaming. "And when I am Prince Consort, then she will be even luckier. Life is beautiful, is it not, Hayton?"

The carriage drew to a halt, and Hayton opened the door.

"Here we are, Your Lordship," he said.

"Ah, joy," Marksmith replied, picking up a large bouquet of flowers and walking into Irma's House of Couture. It was strangely silent.

"Carranya, my flower, are you there?" he called out. His voice echoed through the empty vestibule. Puzzled, he moved deeper into the building, and what he saw silenced him.

Irma and her assistants were lying on the floor, unconscious but still breathing, and the entire room glowed with a dim red light. Standing in front of him were two men, remarkably alike except in age, both bearing swords. He turned, and saw that three more men were guarding the exit. He was trapped.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he said, trying to summon up his most commanding voice.

"Outrage?" The older of the two men walked forward, and struck the floor with his sword. To the Duke's horror, it began to burn, creating a wall of fire that prevented him from speaking further. Across the flames, his interlocutors' faces seemed disfigured, almost demonic. "Now, I'm glad to see you know some big words, Your Dukedom – or whatever title you may bear. We're here to ask you some questions."

"The Duke of Marksmith does not bandy words with commoners," he replied, trying to conceal his mounting fear. "Rest assured that once the authorities learn of this, you will be severely punished. You are speaking to the future Prince Consort of Galvenia."

"For the moment, my man," the second man replied with a smile, "_we_ are the authorities. And you would do well not to cross us."

"Do not address me as 'my man'," Marksmith began, then felt something prodding him from behind. He turned, and saw that one of the three men behind him had a rifle pointed at him. His knees began to tremble.

"We will address you as we please – as Duke, Duck, or anything we feel like," the second man went on, with a laugh. "Is that clear?"

"What do you want with me?" the Duke moaned.

"Take a seat, quacker," the second man went on, still amused. Marksmith turned, and found that there was a chair behind him. Dazed and frightened, he sat down. "Now watch."

The first man placed a Memory Crystal in front of the Duke, tapped it, and then stepped back. The images lasted only a few minutes, and at the end, he was shaking his head, a look of revulsion on his face.

"Is this – true?" he began.

"We swear it on our honour," the first man said coldly. "And even if you do not believe, do you not _feel_ it in your heart? Does a man in love not know when he is being played false?"

"We're trying to help you, Ducks," the second man said with a chuckle. "Now listen. In exchange for our generosity, we want two things. First, we want the release of one of our men, unjustly detained as a political prisoner in Lorean. His name is Makarov Juno. Second, we leave you free to act as you will, now that you have seen the little story on our Crystal. Only, be discreet. In times of war, commoners can be heroes."

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered hoarsely.

"We love our country, and we love Terra," the first man replied. "You are a pawn in a much larger game, Your Lordship, but you are free to act. Remember, even a pawn can be powerful if it makes the right moves. Now go – and remember that if you play us false, we will be all too eager to arrange a second meeting."

The three men guarding the door stepped aside, and Marksmith scurried out of the room.

"Safe journey, Lover Boy," the second man called out cheerfully.

Two of the men poured water over the flames, quenching them.

Jason Lugner laughed. "I quite enjoy playing them off, one against another," he observed. "It is a test of wills. Which of them will be stronger? Juno is driven by envy. Marksmith, by greed – he does not love that Princess, not any more than I do. As for our other friend, we will soon force him to show his hand, if Marksmith proves too cowardly."

Jacob Lugner replaced his sheath in his sword and shook hands with his brother. "I agree with you, brother," he said. "Kin, Kun, Ken – revive those poor seamstresses, and remove the lights. They probably won't remember much anyway."

"Yes, Sir Lugner," one of the three men replied.

"And now, let us wait," Jacob Lugner said. "Erasmus cannot be wrong. We will have an answer before we realize it."

xxx

"Another dead end," Sheffield said disgustedly. "He either can't, or won't, tell us anything more. Are you certain that your chemical concoction really works?"

"I've done all that I can, Prime Minister," Dr. Roper replied. A pudgy man with a perpetually worried look, he shook his head emphatically as they walked out of the interrogation room. "He says he acted on the orders of the Council of Viceroys, and nothing more."

"And is that the truth?" Sir Cornelius said, walking in step with them.

"Let me put it this way, Sir Cornelius," Roper replied. "It is one of three things: the truth, what he believes to be the truth, or what his guilty conscience accuses him of, even if he has not done it. Our drug cannot make that distinction. It can lower defences and obtain answers, but it cannot verify those answers."

"At least your medicine isn't totally useless, Roper," Sheffield said, a little more gently. "We were able to get a confession from one of Marksmith's servants, saying that he had nothing to do with the attempt on Socius – it was merely gossip he had overheard and stored in his memory. As for those two alcoholics who spoke of an attack on Mother Anna's carriage, they were working independently, and denied any involvement of the Duke's."

"Then we are back to square one," Sir Cornelius said, disappointed. "We do not know who the guiding spirits of this entire affair are. The Zion abducted the Princess – very well, we already know that from their ill-timed gloating! – but who among us helped them?"

"Speaking of the Zion," Roper said, "I've heard an interesting item over the wire. We doctors tend to keep in touch across countries, and the word is that Charlemagne has begun to recover."

"Really?" Sheffield said sharply. "I thought the man was moribund."

"So did I, Prime Minister, but it seems we were wrong," Roper replied, and then closed his eyes, hesitating. "And we did get one interesting item out of the Zion soldiers we captured. They have plans – plans to strike at us."

"Another abduction? Good Lord, Roper, are they criminally insane?" Fairfax exclaimed.

"Not quite, Sir Cornelius," he said. "It was difficult to reconstruct what they said, because the doses I was administering were already quite high, and they weren't too coherent. But the general tenor is clear. There is a plan on the part of their High Command to move from Darington to the border, and to strike there – perhaps at Checkpoint Alpha, perhaps at Alton. Unfortunately, both of them began speaking gibberish at the end."

"Gibberish?"

"Here are the transcripts, Sir Cornelius," Roper said, pulling two sheets of paper from the pockets of his lab coat. "It is clear that their mission in Linois' Glade was not only to detain the Princess, but to scout out the area for a future possible strike."

Cornelius scanned the doctor's notes quickly. "As you say, gibberish. 'Wrath', 'sickness', 'journey'….they must be afraid of being punished once we send them back."

"There was one phrase that recurred many times," Roper said, pointing to the paper. "'Core wrath'."

"Core wrath?" Sheffield shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense to me. I will give orders to our men to secure Alpha and reinforce it, and also strengthen the Citadel of Derren, at the northern edge of Galvenia. Hopefully, that should be enough."

"I hope so, Sheffield," Sir Cornelius said, studying the papers again, but unable to glean anything more from them.

xxx

"And this is why I conclude," Pontiff Pious XXI said, firmly and vigorously, "that Terra will not know peace until those who desire war look inside their hearts, and ask themselves if they are truly serving their God and their country, or their own selfish interests. God is not a 'jingoist', to use the Galvenian term. He does not play favourites, abduct innocent women, or invade other countries simply to 'prove a point'. Those who would follow Him must submit to him obediently, and not seek to misuse His words and His holy men and women for base purposes. Leaders of Terra, repent."

A smatter of polite applause greeted this speech, but the six faces turned on the Pontiff were far from pleased. Viceroy Kanoi seemed on the verge of having a stroke, Archbishop Mazarus seemed worried, Lord Lucan was perspiring, Jedda seemed bored, and Jansen looked angry. Only Terrin Hipper, President of the Commonwealth, was keeping up a calm exterior.

"Thank you, Your Holiness," he said politely. "The proposition is this: The Zion Empire has been guilty of an unwarranted and violent intrusion into the Theocracy of Itaria. No convincing proof of any _casus belli_ on the part of the Itarians has been provided, despite Kanoi's rantings. Do we, the Executive Council of the Commonwealth, condemn this intrusion? Vote with your hands, gentlemen, for we have little time for speeches."

Three hands were raised – Lucan, Jansen, and Mazarus.

"Lucan, you traitor!" Kanoi spluttered. "You will pay dearly for this!"

"You crossed a line when you touched our Princess, Kanoi," Lucan shot back. "You and your Council of Viceroys are a disgrace."

"Gentlemen, a little more politeness, please," Hipper said. "As President of Terra, I approve the motion, and this condemnation shall go on the record. Next, as President, I commit the Commonwealth to continue its peacekeeping efforts, and we will be deploying further troops to Itaria shortly. And finally, gentlemen, we must vote on a punishment. Invasion of a sovereign state is a direct violation of the Charter of Lord Geraud, and there are three penalties prescribed. I shall put each of them to the vote."

"First, and most severely, there is the option of expelling the Zion from the Commonwealth. They will be under a complete trade embargo, and will have no voting powers or representation in elections until they withdraw from Itaria. Their government will be deemed illegitimate, and all other nations will be free to break off relations with them. This is the most dramatic form of punishment, and it must not be undertaken lightly. Are any present here in favour of this?"

No hands were raised.

"Second, there is the option of degradation. The Zion will remain members, but neither their Council member not their Senators will have any voting powers, and there will be sanctions on non-essential items of trade. Does anyone here wish to vote for this?"

Mazarus' hand was raised at once, followed – after a pause – by Jansen's. Kanoi turned pale, and clenched his fist.

"Third, there is the option of Council degradation alone. Kanoi will be excluded from the Executive Council and its decisions, but the Zion Senators will retain their voting powers. Trade sanctions will apply only to weapons or other items intended to aid an unjust war. How many here vote for this?"

Lord Lucan raised his hand.

"Representative Jedda, do you abstain?" Hipper said gravely.

"I do, Mr. President," Jedda said with a laugh. "Kanoi, you are behaving like a spoiled brat, as the Galvenians would say. I've seen better behaviour from a five-year-old Republican child. Just give up this silly war. The Itarians are not my cup of tea, but they are harmless. Leave them alone. Premier Josen has asked me to hold my fire, but has also authorized me to vote for penalties in the next meeting, if you do not desist."

"Very well," Hipper said. "Since the Council has voted, it remains for me to ratify this decision. I hereby move that…"

Kanoi pounded his fist on the table, and swore loudly. "This is a travesty of justice!" he bellowed. "You are only sitting in that chair because your men assassinated Junzio Koketsu, and now you abuse your power! According to the Charter, a punishment of this sort has to be ratified by an absolute majority of the Council – not by the Itarian provocateurs and the Varald terrorists!"

"Let the record state," Hipper replied calmly, "that Representative Kanoi was noted to use intemperate and ungentlemanly language, besides making slanderous accusations about the President of the Commonwealth. But, being President, I must concede the rightness of your point. You have one week to start withdrawing your troops from Itaria, Kanoi, and consider yourself lucky. If, at the end of one week, Itaria is still under attack, we will have a second vote, with no abstentions permitted."

"A provocateur, me?" Pontiff Pious XXI said mildly. "Come now, my good Viceroy. Remember that patience is the mother of many virtues."

"There is a second matter to be discussed," Hipper said, shuffling through his papers, "if Kanoi will promise not to throw another tantrum."

Jedda burst out laughing, and Kanoi looked daggers at him.

"The issue is this: as per the provisions of the Charter, we are offering Pontiff Pious XXI, head of the Theocracy of Itaria, refuge from invaders here. However, such refuge is likely to become a political football – to use a Galvenian phrase – and may lead to our neutrality being impugned. Given this, there is a provision in the Charter whereby a neutral state – one that is not involved in fighting against the exiled leader – can offer him temporary shelter. The Senate has requested this, and the motion is now before me. Zion and Itaria are, of course, excluded. That leaves Fulton, the Directorate, and Galvenia. Though this is not compulsory, gentlemen, you will be working for peace if you offer to do so, and will be rewarded with a reduction in Commonwealth taxes for as long as the situation lasts. Are any of you willing to do this?"

Lord Lucan raised his hand. This was his cue.

"May it please the Council, Mr. President," he replied, "on behalf of His Majesty, King Arlbert Lionheart the Third of Galvenia, I make a free offer of our hospitality and neutrality to Pontiff Pious XXI and the Pontifical Council. Your Holiness, if you wish, Galvenia will be your home."

Pious looked at Lucan appraisingly, then nodded.

"I accept, Lord Lucan," he said, "and may the Infinity bless you, your King and your nation for this."

Kanoi stared at his Galvenian counterpart, utterly bewildered.

A little while later, when the Council had adjourned for the day, the Pontiff made his way back to his chambers, accompanied by his colleague, Polycarp Meissner.

"Your Holiness," he said softly. "Is this wise? I know what you have in mind, but is it not too soon?"

"We will have to go there sooner or later, my good Polycarp," he replied, "and many things must happen, though the end is not quite near. Trust the Infinity, my friend."

xxx

"I am sorry for calling upon you at this time," Professor Scott said, addressing Henrik and Viola, "but there is another task I need you to help me with. First of all, though, allow me to congratulate you on success in the mid-semester examinations."

Viola blushed. "I must confess I didn't expect to do that well," she said.

"No false modesty, please, Miss Benise," the Professor replied. "Now, I assume both of you are familiar with the Museum of Science and Lore, near the eastern exit of Lorean."

"Of course, Professor," Henrik said. "I've paid quite a few visits there, especially since I've taken physical science as an elective. What about you, Viola?"

"Hmm, I know where it is, but I don't know it too well," she said, appearing strangely reluctant to discuss the matter any further.

"Well, that's good," Scott went on, in a lower voice, "because your next assignment is there. Over a year ago, they were given a curious specimen by my friend Colin Erasmus, the mayor of Alton. It was an animal horn, but it belonged to no known animal as far as they could tell."

Henrik smiled. "It so happens that I know a thing or two about that creature, Professor," he replied. "My friend Ryan and I killed it in Alton Marsh, at the Mayor's request. It was a strange creature, like a wolf but with a mane like a lion's."

Viola looked at Henrik admiringly, but said nothing.

"Remarkable!" Scott said, clapping his hands. "At any rate, what is of more concern is that two more creatures of that sort have been sighted – one near Checkpoint Alpha, the military base near the border, and one in Davenport Woods."

"Davenport Woods?" Viola said, a nervous expression on her face.

"Oh, don't worry," Scott replied. "Fortunately, thanks to the war, both those sites are regularly patrolled by our soldiers, and the animals were taken down without much difficulty; Erasmus has also requested, and obtained, a small troop of Territorial Army men to guard Alton Marsh in case such things recur.

"Where are these beasts coming from?" Viola asked, with a frown.

"Ah, that's the question, Miss Benise." Scott placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward in his chair. "They are certainly not native to Galvenia, and a careful investigation suggests that they had been living in those locations for several months, feeding on rabbits and other small animals. At Checkpoint Alpha, we found an empty cage, and in Davenport Woods, we found a small cave near the foot of Davenport Peak – both of which contained animal bones and other traces of the creatures themselves. Someone has placed them there."

"But who could that be, and why would they do it?" Henrik said. "Some crazy animal lover?"

"I'm afraid it's a little more serious than that, Mr. Spenson," Scott replied. "But rest assured, I'm not sending you into a danger zone. All you need to do is proceed to the Museum of Science and Lore, and meet a man there. He is a visiting biologist from Jadeed, in the Fulton Republic, and he claims that he can tell us about the beasts. Unfortunately, he is regarded as a bit of a crank in his own country" – Scott chuckled – "and it's possible that his information may be worthless. I want you to meet him, listen to what he has to say, and report back to me. If he seems to make sense, Colin and I will talk to him."

"Sounds harmless," Henrik agreed, and Viola nodded, though she still seemed strangely uneasy. "What's the guy's name, Professor?"

"Petros Constantinus," Scott replied. "I haven't read anything by him myself, though Colin says he has a bee in his bonnet about mythical creatures and how they really exist, despite the fossil record stating otherwise. If all he has is myths and legends, thank him and walk on. If it's anything more – report back to me."

"Got it," Henrik said, standing up with a quick movement. "Coming, Viola?"

"I'm not really one for museums," she said, smiling at him –he had the impression that she was forcing herself to do so – "but I could certainly do with a little fresh air and company. Let's leave soon, before it gets dark."

"That sounds like a plan," Henrik replied, as they left the College.

xxx

It was not a long walk to the Museum, and in about half an hour, they found themselves drawing near to its archways.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it, Henrik?" Viola said, smiling and admiring the carefully-maintained gardens outside the edifice of the Museum. "I hope this Professor Constantinus isn't too much of a crank."

"Hmm." Henrik looked forward, then turned back. "Viola, tell me – is there anything that's bothering you about this trip? You've been pretty silent all the way here."

Viola flushed. "I didn't realize I was that obvious," she said. "Well, if you must know, I had rather a frightening experience there when I was about twelve, and I've been a little scared of the place ever since. It's silly of me, I know, but I can't help it."

Henrik held out his hand to her, and she took it. "Don't worry," he said. "We all have our fears. Let me let you in on a secret – I'm not too crazy about heights, myself. I guess it must have been one of those fossil exhibits – those can be quite scary to some people."

"Heights?" Viola said, smiling and squeezing his hand. "Well, that's comforting. And anyway, it wasn't a fossil – it was one of those, um, magic exhibits."

"Magic?" Henrik grinned. "I'm a bit of a skeptic when it comes to such things, actually. Yes, I know there are Zion mages, but for me, seeing is believing – except when it comes to my religion, I guess. I'm strange that way."

"I thought your religion said that mages were evil," Viola said hesitantly.

"Not all of them," Henrik explained. "In fact, though there are some early Church documents which might read that way, every Pontiff for the past two thousand years has distinguished between 'natural' magic, which some people seem to be born with, and 'demonic' magic, which involves summoning evil spirits. Only the latter is condemned by the Church. An example of the former would be, um, one of the Zion's fire or wind mages. An example of the latter would be Samath the Journeyman, who tried to summon a female demon to receive her powers."

"Now that's something I've never heard of yet," Viola said, with a smile that looked far less forced this time. "You're a mine of information, Mr. Spenson."

"Hey, blame it on my friend Ryan, from the Academy," Henrik replied. "He used to enjoy the old story of Kaleb and Samath as a boy, and that made me curious, so I studied a few Church books on magic."

"Here we are!" Viola said, as they stood at the entrance to the Museum. After signing their names in the visitor's book, they headed to the reception area. People milled around them – students with notebooks, young couples, families with young children. Cutting through the crowd, Henrik approached the reception desk.

"Can I help you?" the woman behind the desk said, with a cheerful smile. "An assignment, perhaps?"

"Professor Scott sent us here to meet a man named, um, Petros Constantinus," Henrik replied. "Would that be possible, ma'am?"

"Ah, the Professor told us he'd be sending some of his students along," the woman said, nodding. "Be warned, kids, he loves to talk!"

Viola smiled. "The Professor warned us about that, didn't he, Henrik?"

"If you're up to it," she went on, "he's up that staircase to the right, in the second cubicle, behind a door labelled 'Visiting Faculty'. He's quite annoyed that we've put him in the 'Magical Artifacts' section, but our Curator of Biology refused to have him in the 'Fauna' section. Scientists can be quite difficult at times." She laughed.

"Sorry to hear that, ma'am," Henrik said. "Come, let's get this over with."

They climbed up to the first floor, where the crowd was a little thinner. Heading down the corridor, they came to the room that the receptionist had indicated. Its door was slightly ajar.

"Professor Constantinus?" Henrik called out, knocking on the door. "We've come from King's College. Could we speak with you?"

There was no reply.

"Professor?" he called out again.

"Maybe he's gone out," Viola suggested. Heading for the counter, they asked the young guard there if this was the case, but he shook his head.

"Hasn't left his room since the morning," he replied. "Had a few people coming to visit – the last one was about an hour ago – but he doesn't come out much. He's too busy pottering about with books, and with some weird-looking buffalo horns. Go right in, if you really want to meet him."

"Thanks," Henrik replied. Pushing open the door, he and Viola entered.

It was a second later that everyone in the Magical Artifacts wing heard the scream. Rushing into the room, the guard was greeted with a sight that caused him to turn green as well. Professor Constantius was lying on the floor, dead from a bullet wound to the head, a torn piece of paper clutched in his hand.

"Did – did you find him like this?" he stammered.

"Yes," Henrik replied, helping Viola stand against the wall for support. "It looks like he's been murdered."

"By Prince Derren," the guard moaned. "My first shift here, and a man has to die on it…."

xxx

"We were too late," Jason Lugner said sadly, his trademark smile gone for once. "They got to him first. Erasmus will be very unhappy."

"Well, at least our suspicions are confirmed," Jacob Lugner replied, resting his large jaw on one hand. "Unfortunately, we are in no position to act on them, even if we have secured the release of Juno."

"Juno…" Jason Lugner brightened. "Brother, why do we not use Juno to send – a message to a particular person?"

"He is a hothead," Jacob Lugner said, "and he needs to temper his unbridled aggression by being given smaller tasks. No, Jason, to proceed further we need the other man. Or Marksmith."

"Speaking of Marksmith," Jason said, "our little ploy has worked too well. As soon as our men got wind of Zion troop deployments near the border, Sheffield began to organize his own forces. I have it on good authority that Marksmith has ensured – through his army contacts, and his mother's relatives – that his rival, Eramond, will be part of those forces. I foresee a short and glorious career for him if that happens – and if what we suspect about the Zion is true."

"The recovery of Charlemagne is a wild card," Jacob replied. "It throws our timeline out of kilter, unless…."

"Unless the process is taking more time than expected? Yes, that is quite possible, brother," said Jason. "My own calculations suggest that over a year may be required."

"You always were the theorist, Jason, even if I had the gift," Jacob said affectionately. "But we must try to ensure that this border jaunt of the Zion's dies an early death. Otherwise, those calculations will prove frighteningly accurate."

"What do you have in mind?" Jason asked hopefully.

"Nothing, really," Jacob replied. "But I think a little trip across the border would do us some good. I've heard that summers in Issachar are quite pleasant."

"I have heard the same as well," Jason said, his smile now quite recovered.

It was a day before Terrin Hipper's deadline was due to expire.

"What a life," Sergeant Hodges grumbled, sitting at his desk. "To think that rookies are getting medals for serving the Commonwealth, while we're stuck here."

"Well, you're the one that opted out, Hodges," Captain Helms retorted. "When they gave you a choice between the Zion and the CSF reserves, you asked for the first, much against my advice. A young man like you needs to see the world."

Hodges chuckled. He was used to his superior officer chaffing him in this way, and though he grumbled, it was all in good fun. "Well, it looks like we need to review our men for today, though what purpose it serves, I can't tell. Checkpoint Alpha is quiet."

"But we've received warnings from Central Command, Hodges," Helms replied, "to watch out for any suspicious movements, and they're sending more men down from Lorean in a few days…."

He had not finished his sentence when the alarm began to ring.

"By King Richard!" Helms said, and swore under his breath. "Some young fool must have hit the switch by mistake. Come, Hodges. Let's find out who it was – the potatoes tonight need peeling."

The two men emerged from the base, to be greeted by a group of nervous-looking soldiers.

"Sir!" one of them said. "Sir, you've got to see this!"

"Which one of you fools rang the bell?" Helms said sharply. "Damn it, that thing is not a toy!"

"Sir!" A voice pierced the uneasy silence that followed his question. "Imperial division approaching, at about two miles from here! They're about fifty strong."

"What?" Hodges exclaimed.

Captain Helms, in the meantime, had moved to where the sentry was, and realized that he was speaking the sober truth.

"Hutchison!" he called out, his hand going to his sword. "Send a message to Lorean immediately, informing them that we may soon be under attack. The rest of you, prepare for battle immediately! Defense formations, and place both cannons near the northern entrance!"

"Sweet Infinity, sir," Hodges stammered, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Damned if I know, Hodges," Helms said darkly, as the men began to line up and assume their positions. "But whatever it is, we're not going down without a fight."

In less than an hour, the Zion men had drawn up in battle line at the border, and their leader, in a Major's uniform, stood in front of them, carrying a megaphone.

"Men of Galvenia, we are the 29th Imperial Battalion," he said loudly. "Your citizens have violated the Border Treaty of Arlbert I on several occasions. Surrender, or we will capture this post by force."

"You and whose army, kid?" Helms shouted back contemptuously. "You'll take Checkpoint Alpha over our cold, dead bodies."

"Very well!" the Major replied, and the Zion men immediately opened fire. Three of the Galvenian soldiers were hit, and fell to the ground.

"They have numbers, but they shoot like old women!" Helms urged his men. "Hodges, fire the first cannon!"

A shell landed in the midst of the Zion line, knocking several men to the ground. Enraged, the Major charged forward, and the battle became heated. The second Galvenian cannon fired, tearing a line in an approaching group of Zion soldiers, but they retaliated with their rapid-fire artillery.

After several hours of fierce fighting, it was evident that both sides had been utterly decimated. Helms, looking behind him and wiping the blood from his neck, noted with horror that Sergeant Hodges was slumped over the first cannon, a sword transfixing him.

"Well, Major," he called out, as he and the eleven men left with him faced the Zion leader and his seven, "do you want to continue this, or shall we just chase you back to your own country?"

"We will never surrender," he said, and three of the riflemen fired, but this time Helms' men were prepared, and they fired rapidly. Four of the Zion men fell, but only one of the Galvenians.

"Do you truly want any more punishment?" Helms taunted him.

The Major reached for his belt, and took hold of a grenade. Helms, reacting rapidly, fired at him – and was instantly knocked to the ground, convulsed with the most intense pain he had felt in his life. Rolling on the ground helplessly, he saw to his horror that the rest of his men were similarly affected.

"Move in, my friends," the Major and his three comrades said, slowly and deliberately disarming the helpless Galvenian soldiers. "Mission accomplished."

xxx


	12. Chapter 11: Answers?

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**  
_**Answers?**_

**PESTILENCE**_….Modern science has uncovered evidence that most plagues or pestilences are due to microscopic organisms, or microbes (q.v.) Such microbes can be transmitted in various ways – from the soil, from animals or plants, through the air, or through bodily fluids and secretions. Thus, the "Curse of San Delas", which claimed over 50,000 lives in C.Y. 238, was due to a microbial infection spread by the bites of swamp flies (q.v.); a lesser outbreak was reported in Alton, Galvenia, in C.Y. 277, carried by the same insects…._

…_.Though containment, isolation and the use of modern medicines have been instrumental in curtailing or preventing most plagues, there are still two of them which remain a mystery, and where the causative microbe has never been isolated. One of them is the "Lesser Plague of Galvenia", which swept Davenport, Hartridge, Westchester, Mann Island and Trinden before disappearing abruptly in C.Y. 280. The second, discussed in its own article (see PLAGUE OF GHETZ) is the epidemic that spread throughout Varaldia and the Fulton Republic from C.Y. 301 onwards…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

The telegram reached Lord Lucan just hours before he, and the other Council members, were due to meet for their vote on the penalties due to the Zion Empire. He tore it open impatiently, cursing the efficiency of modern technology and its ability to disturb a man at the most inopportune moments.

After reading it, he was no longer cursing; he was praying.

LORD LUCAN  
ZION ATTACK ON CHECKPOINT ALPHA.  
ZION FORCES HAVE CAPTURED ALPHA AND ENCAMP AT OZUNHOLD.  
MARCHING ON OZUN CITY. DO NOT VOTE FOR SANCTIONS.  
SEEKING A DIPLOMATIC SOLUTION.

SHEFFIELD, WAR OFFICE, LOREAN

Lucan's hand trembled with anger, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his Zion counterpart.

"Trouble, Lucan?" Kanoi said cheerily. He had received a telegram of his own, and could well guess at the causes of the other's discomfiture.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about, Kanoi," Lucan said stiffly. As he crumpled the telegram and stuffed it into his pocket, a resolution came to his mind.

Lucan was a Galvenian of the old school – his ancestors had been squires and knights in the service of King Richard Lionheart, and his great-grandfather had been granted his title for being the Lionhearts' official chronicler. The monarchy, and especially the Crown Princess, was especially dear to him, for his wife was a distant relative of Queen Katarina, and had helped look after the Princess until her untimely death in a carriage accident.

"Diplomatic solution be damned, by King Richard," he said to himself. "If this means another Lorean Castle, so be it. If this means the failure of Sheffield and his diplomatic solution, so be it. Our King and Queen deserve better than this."

His head held high, he strode into the Council room.

xxx

"Good work, Ryan," Sergeant Hume said. "You and your boys do seem to lead a charmed life."

"It wasn't that hard, Sergeant," Ryan replied, a little embarrassed. "And besides, once we figured out that they were using magic attacks, it wasn't too hard to dig out the shields. Ours are better than the Commonwealth's, that's for sure!"

"I hope that what we have is enough, and that Charlemagne realizes he cannot achieve a second Darington," Hume replied. "Anyway, we've now secured Ozun City. God save Galvenia, and God bless Lord Lucan, stubborn old mule that he is."

Ryan smiled. In the two weeks since he and his men had been deployed to the border, the whole Army had enthusiastically adopted the stand of Lord Lucan, who had voted for strong sanctions against the Zion Empire for their actions in Itaria, and had also condemned the border skirmish. On learning of this, Sir Prescott had immediately withdrawn his troops from the Ghetz frontier, and was returning with his men by ship, with his Zion allies, weakened by the constant raids of the Varald Divisions, unable to stop him. Pontiff Pious had been taken to Davenport, keeping in mind the new conflict that had just erupted, and would shortly be moved from there to Lorean. With his last breath, Captain Helms had managed to inform the War Office that the Zion were using thunder-based magic, and the old shields – gathering dust at the Military Academy since the War of Independence – had been employed once more.

Strengthened by this, the Galvenian Army had begun to fight back, and while Checkpoint Alpha was still in Zion hands, Ozunhold and the little town of Ozun City had been recaptured. Navy ships had blockaded the waters of the Sea of Arlia, and the one skirmish there had ended in a defeat for the Zion, whose underwater projectiles were not strong enough to pierce the newer, stronger Galvenian ships.

"What do you think they'll do next?" Hume wondered. "I know Charlemagne is practically a corpse, but do the madmen of his Council seriously believe that they can win a war on three fronts? The Varald are pushing them back, the Commonwealth is defending Itaria, and we're more than holding our own!"

"I think they're counting on using magic, Tom," Ryan replied. "I encountered a little of it in Itaria City, but there were only about four mages there."

"Well, that's their fault," Hume replied. He had a Republican mother, and so – like Lavie's uncle David – he was well versed in the legends and woes of the Journeymen. "Linois shouldn't have dissolved the Mage Battalions. Look how that ended up."

"Suppose they still have a few up their sleeve," Ryan suggested. "How do you think that would affect their chances? Of course, mages have very little power in Itaria – the wave of thunder that killed Captain Helms and his men only stunned us in the Pontiff's palace. That means that if they're counting on a quick knockout, they can only try it with the Varald, or with us."

"That would be scary," Hume joked. "A thousand Varald mages in their fairy robes, firing their wands at us. We'd all die laughing, and then Charlie the Dead would become Emperor of Galvenia. I don't think they can come up with those numbers, Ryan."

"I don't think so either," Ryan agreed. "Come, it's time for us to regroup and meet the Colonel. We need to get Alpha back."

"Roger on that, Ryan," Hume replied, as the two men returned to the temporary shelter of Ozunhold, followed by their soldiers.

xxx

"Please," the woman pleaded. "Can't you do anything more for my grandchild?"

"This isn't a common disease here, old mother," Doctor Kaminsky replied. "I have asked for supplies of medicine from the city, but they need it for the soldiers." He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Many men on the front are ill. It is to be expected – war, blood, wounds, sickness. In the meantime, please keep giving her this syrup, three times a day. I shall return tomorrow, or send my assistant if I cannot come."

"Thank you," she said simply, as Doctor Kaminsky emerged from the cottage. His assistant, Kuzmin, was waiting for him with a black bag, looking serious.

"Fifteen in all, including three deaths, and I've made a round of the village," he said. "We need to call the capital, Chief."

Kaminsky scowled. "The city, yes," he said impatiently, "but why Zhemu? They have more important things to worry about."

"Doesn't it strike you as strange, Chief," Kuzmin said quietly, "that some of the symptoms of this sickness resemble those of our soldiers on the front? A high, remittent fever; rashes; congestion of the lungs; inflammation of the liver…."

"You're saying it's an outbreak," Kaminsky said heavily. "Well, Kuzmin, in all fairness to you, it's quite probable that a straggler or a deserter brought this disease from the front. But even if that is the case, we just need to isolate Dmitri's Pond, and prevent any of the villagers from leaving. The city can help us with this." The 'city' was the relatively new metropolis of Jenkin Town, five miles away, and Kaminsky's home base. "Involving Zhemu would entail all sorts of unnecessary forms and red tape."

"I still think we need to, Chief," Kuzmin said firmly. "I've been doing a little reading, and this isn't a disease from around here. Neither is it from Zion, to rule out the obvious. This disease was seen in Galvenia several years ago, and once in Fulton."

"Well, there are Galvenian soldiers on the front as well, though they have pulled out after the Zion laid bare their Imperial greed," Kaminsky replied scornfully. "Inform the capital if you must, Kuzmin, but do it on your own initiative. I have had enough dealings with the bureaucrats there, and I tell you that you are simply wasting your time. We will isolate this village, and that will be the end of it all."

"I hope so," Kuzmin said doubtfully. Outside one of the cottages, a red light was burning – a traditional Varald custom for a deceased child.

xxx

"An outbreak?" Sigmund said with alarm. "Good grief, I hope it's not serious."

"We're a long way from the Varald Directorate, Sigmund," Leah said gently. "And such things often happen during wars. When I was at school, I remember studying about how a plague caused havoc among Emperor Linois' forces, and compelled him to sign a peace treaty with Queen Mother Penelope and King Arlbert."

"Besides, it's only confined to the frontier and a few border towns," David observed. "Knowing the Varald, they'll use all means necessary to contain it, including torching villages."

"How dreadful!" Emily exclaimed.

"Would you like some beer, Sigmund?" David teased, as he uncapped his bottle and poured it into a large tankard. "Doctors say it's good for you."

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask _my_ doctors about that, not to mention Emily," Sigmund said, with a laugh. "What with all the commotion in our own country, though, I'm half glad – and half ashamed – to be here. The calm here is good for my nerves, but being away from Davenport when we're being attacked makes me feel just a little guilty."

There was a knock at the door, and a few moments later, Leah's youngest daughter, Esther, entered the room with a telegram.

"A message for Uncle Sigmund, Mama," she said, with a smile. "Are they asking him to enlist in the war?"

Sigmund chuckled. "By Prince Derren, no, child," he replied. "They don't want old men like me – they want younger men like Ryan Eramond."

Lavie looked uncomfortable, and tried to change the topic. "What does it say, Daddy?"

Sigmund tore open the cover and began to read, his eyebrows rising as he did so. "Little Esther," he said, with a serious look on his face, "you actually were right."

"What?" Lavie exclaimed.

"What does it say, Sigmund?" Emily asked.

"It's from Sheffield, the new Prime Minister. It says they're willing to grant me a full pardon, and a cancellation of my exile, if I undertake to support the current war against the Zion both financially and materially. Hmph." He tossed the telegram on the table. "That means they're worried, frankly."

Emily picked it up and read it through. "Do you think we should go, Sigmund?" she said anxiously.

"I'd say yes," Sigmund said, closing his eyes and thinking. "Even if they chose me as a convenient scapegoat after the attempt on Socius, Galvenia is still our country, Emily. And when we're unjustly attacked by the Zion, I think we should do what we can to try and help out. Besides, there are other reasons." He smiled.

"Such as the Queen's Head Pub?" David said slyly.

"David!" Leah said, both amused and annoyed.

"Oh, no," Sigmund said with a laugh. "You're quite a card, David, but on this occasion, you've guessed wrong."

"Have they asked us to leave immediately?" Lavie asked.

"No, dearest," Sigmund replied, smiling at her. "They've asked me to confirm my acceptance by telegram within a week, and said they'd send further instructions after that."

"Quite right," Emily said. "They've said it'll probably take a month or so."

"That's a relief," Leah said. "It gives us plenty of time to prepare – and to say goodbye to you all. We're going to miss you all."

"Thank you, Leah," Sigmund replied, as his sister presented him with a cup of coffee. "Someday, when this war is over, perhaps you could be our guests in Galvenia."

xxx

"Full decryption," Professor Szabek said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Over a year of careful work, but I have – how do you put it – 'hit the jackpot' at last. Oh, joy!" He held up the dusty magazine in front of him.

"And to think Recruit Tamas found it under Talmadge's bed," Fairfax said. "In retrospect, it was a very clever hiding place: no one would look for Kodenai's material in Talmadge's room, it was old and dusty, and besides, most of us would blush when looking at a magazine like this and toss it away. Tamas, my boy, you've more than earned those dollars, and there are five thousand more where they came from."

"Hey, Minister, that's swell of you," Armin said gratefully. "What does it say, exactly?"

"Ask me no questions, Tamas, and I'll tell you no lies," Fairfax replied with a smile. "Besides, don't you have an errand to run down at Ozunhold? Run along, my lad."

"Gotcha, Minister," Armin said with a wink as he left the room.

"So what have you got for me, Lolek?" Fairfax said affectionately. Besides being a professor of Mathematics at King's College, Karol Szabek was Galvenia's expert on codes and ciphers, and had often aided the Interior Ministry in that capacity. His parents had arrived in Galvenia as political refugees from the Varald Directorate when he was a small boy, and though he still spoke his native tongue well, he was a patriot who wore his heart on his sleeve. He also happened to be Fairfax's brother-in-law, which explained why they were discussing matters over a glass of wine in his home; Fairfax was married to his younger sister, Maria.

"Ah, Cornelius, it is wonderful," Szabek said. "A complex code – two distinct alphabets, and much redundant material, but I am truly proud of myself. I only hope that I am not too late." Opening a drawer of his desk, he took out several sheets of paper, and handed them to Fairfax. "Of course, much of the content is still obscure, but I am sure you can make sense of it."

Sir Cornelius flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing as he did so. "It is much as we suspect," he said. "We now have more than enough proof that socius was moving in the right lines. These two initials – E. and R. – are a brick wall, though. Sometimes they occur together: R. & E., R. + E."

"I'm afraid punctuation was one thing that we had trouble with, so any transcription thereof is going to be a guess; it could even be a space," Professor Szabek said apologetically. "It could even be a single name – R.E. – except that sometimes the letters occur apart."

"There are also cryptic references to 'the son'," Fairfax observed. "Now, there have long been rumours that our troubles are being fomented by an illegitimate son of Arlbert's, or his coterie, but the trouble is that even if such sons exist – and I do not say that they do – Arlbert has certainly kept them well hidden and well provided for. If that is what Kodenai's notes were referring to, it will be difficult to proceed, but not impossible."

"Such gloomy topics for such a beautiful summer day, Cornelius," Szabek replied, wagging a finger at him. "Come, let us speak of more cheerful things – like the excellent dinner that my dear Joan has prepared for us both."

Fairfax smiled. "You're an optimist, Lolek," he replied. "It runs in the family, I suppose."

"Indeed," Professor Szabek began, but he got no further. His study window, which was ajar, was suddenly pushed open, and the blinds had mysteriously caught fire.

"What in King George's name….." Fairfax exclaimed, springing up from his chair. Szabek, noting the fire with alarm, reached for a vase of flowers, but before he could react, the blinds had disintegrated before his eyes.

"Help!" he shouted.

A man entered through the window, carrying a sword in his hand.

"Now, there's no need to shout," the man said, softly. "Give me those papers, and I won't harm you."

Sir Cornelius's hand went to his belt. "You brigand," he shot back, "do you realize who you're speaking to?"

In a flash, the man drew a second sword, and lunged forward, a beam of yellow light issuing from its tip. Sir Cornelius lay on the ground, his eyes uprolled, his tongue protruding. Professor Szabek charged forward to defend his friend, but was struck in turn, and fell to the ground as well.

With a satisfied smile, Makarov Juno snatched the papers out of Sir Cornelius' limp hand, incinerated the notebook with his first sword, and disappeared through the window.

And it is true that when Joan Szabek – descending to her husband's sanctuary to remind him, and Sir Cornelius, that dinner was served – she received a most unpleasant surprise.

xxx

"It is time, Gruner," Hunermann said, handing the Archbishop of Caledonia a scroll. "Even the Emperor does not oppose us. We have fixed the investment for next week."

"Next week?" Gruner shrank from the Chairman of the Council. "Hunermann, it is too soon. Our people's morale is low, since the Galvenians are holding their own at one border, while the Varald fight like the infidels they are at another. Let us have some victories from your side first. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?" Hunermann said sharply.

"Listen, Hunermann," Archbishop Gruner said. "You and I are learned men. You have studied statecraft; I, theology. The common man understands nothing of these things. When Itaria fell and the Pontiff fled, many laypeople felt it was a divine punishment, because they reason in simple chains of cause and effect. If we make – the announcement at a time when we are also being defeated, they will not accept it. How can we claim to enjoy God's favour when we are being defeated?"

"Superstition of the lowest kind," Hunermann said with a scowl. "Gruner, if you do not accept this, we will be forced to depose you."

"You don't understand, Hunermann," the Archbishop pleaded. "The people will only accept our plan – see, I make no pretence of divine approval – if they see that the Infinity is on our side. Give me one victory – either in Galvenia or in Ghetz – and I will issue the edict the next morning, I promise. Otherwise, we will be faced with a population of malcontents whose hearts will turn to the exile in Lorean."

"A victory, you say?" Hunermann smiled. "Very well, Gruner. If that is all you want, you shall have your victory. Only, do not come to me later with any scruples about how that victory is achieved. Is that clear?"

Gruner shuddered, and Hunermann bowed to him, still smiling complacently, before he turned to leave.

xxx

"Director, we must take stock of the situation," General Smolensky, supreme commander of the Varald Divisions, said – and then paused, looking anxiously at Russell Kievan – Director of Varaldia.

"Take stock?" Kievan frowned. "A few men are ill, that is all. Sickness and famine are common in times of war, Smolensky. If you do not know that, how can you lead the Varald Army?"

"This is no ordinary disease, Director," Smolensky said apologetically. He could make the country tremble at his voice, but before the Director, he was merely another citizen – one who could be detained, silenced or simply made to disappear at Russell Kievan's whim. "Half of our men on the front are ill. The reinforcements we have received are also showing signs of the fever, and even civilians living villages and towns near the border, especially women and children, are affected."

"Wasn't there a report on this some time ago?" Kievan said suddenly.

"Yes, Director," Smolensky replied. "A physician's assistant named" – he consulted his log – "Kuzmin, from Dmitri's Pond, filed a notification with the Ministry of Public Health. He claimed that the sickness may have originated in Fulton or Galvenia."

"Fulton." Kievan's face took on an expression that those who knew him well referred to as 'dangerous', and he slammed his fist onto his table. "I have long suspected that the men of Fulton have been in league with the dogs of Zion, Smolensky, and this confirms it."

"Director, could this not be caused – either intentionally or accidentally – by the Galvenians? Until the Zion foolishly declared war on them, they were fighting together."

"It is possible, Smolensky," the Director said. "Ask this Kuzmin to investigate the matter further – let him make use of the laboratories of Jenkin Town, or even our own at Zhemu – but let him make haste. And if Fulton is implicated, Smolensky, let us send them a little greeting. They have presumed on our goodwill and tolerance for too long."

If Smolensky had not been on the edge himself, he would have had difficulties in repressing a smile – for goodwill and tolerance were not words that anyone, even the most loyal citizen of the Directorate, would associate with Russell Kievan. But he was on trial himself, for Kievan was far from pleased with the news from the front. "Very well, Director," he said, with a stiff salute. "I shall carry out your orders to the letter."

"Excellent, Smolensky, excellent," Kievan said, a hard smile on his face.

xxx

Checkpoint Alpha had been recaptured by three Galvenian troops – one of which was Ryan's division – and the remainder of the Galvenian vanguard was encamped at Ozunhold, pitching their tents among the ruins of the vast ancient fortress there. Though they were occasionally bothered by birds and insects, it was nothing that a soldier could not handle.

At least, that was how it had been so far.

The men at Ozunhold retired for the night feeling heartened. The news of Alpha's recapture had been celebrated with gusto, leaving several litres of Galvenian beer and cider missing from their stores, and with the exception of ten sentries, the men were asleep.

At midnight, the sentry near the eastern exit was alerted by a gleam of light. Thinking that it came from a lantern, he readied his rifle and took a step forward – but was instantly thrown backwards. His rifle struck the ground and fired, awakening the other sentries.

"Good heavens, Hank, what….Sweet Infinity!" one of the exclaimed, before being tackled to the ground himself. A second soldier, looking forward, ran back to the camp, terrified, and raised the alarm.

"Captain!" he screamed. "Captain, they're everywhere! We need to evacuate and take them down?"

Captain Chisholm emerged from his tent. "The Zion? Nonsense, McGinn, they can't possibly be here."

"Not the Zion, Sir!" Private McGinn said frantically. "Wild beasts! There are at least ten – no….Argh!"

One of the beasts had tackled McGinn to the ground, and was clawing at his throat, while he made desperate attempts to escape. Chisholm fired, and the creature let out a wild roar – then slashed at his face, blinding him. By now, the whole camp was in chaos, as the soldiers battled about twenty of the creatures. They were larger than wolves, about the size of small lions or tigers, with large manes and long teeth.

Just as their attack was being subdued – a task made more difficult by darkness, confusion, and the thickness of the beasts' skins – a flare was fired into the sky, and a Zion division, moving down from the hills, swooped down on the battered Galvenian soldiers.

They encountered very little resistance – for some strange reason, the beasts fled as they arrived – and at dawn, the Zion flag flew over Ozunhold. As the sun rose, the troops captured the entrance to Ozun City. A frantic message was deployed to the capital for more troops, for the men at Checkpoint Alpha were holding off a second wave of attack, but it was too late.

By noon, Zion soldiers occupied the streets of Ozun City, shot the Mayor in the town square, and had raised the Zion flag over one Galvenia's newest towns. The men from Lorean managed to breach the guard at the gate, but it was clear that the recapture would not be an easy task, especially since the reserves at Ozhunold were now non-existent.

xxx

The excitement in the air was palpable, as five thousand citizens of the Zion Empire gathered in the square outside the Cathedral of Saint Friederich at Caledonia. For the whole of the morning, announcements had been made in the streets that an important decree would be issued by the Archbishop.

Many of the faithful, shocked and dismayed by the exile of their Pontiff and the war with Itaria, assembled in eager anticipation. Not all of them approved of what their country's army had done, even if they did not say so loudly, but they all revered the Archbishop as God's representative in the Empire, and looked forward to his pronouncements.

As the square was soon filled to its maximum capacity, members of the Zion Guard – the equivalent of Galvenia's Territorial Army – sealed all exits. This generated some disquiet, but no one dared ask why.

At ten o'clock, as the sun began to rise to its peak over the square, Eduard Gruner, Archbishop of Caledonia, emerged on the balcony of the Cathedral, clad in golden garments. With him were his priestly assistants, as well as Count Hunermann.

The Archbishop raised his hand, and the buzzing crowd was silenced.

"My children," he said, raising his hands over them as if to bless them, "I bring you great and wonderful news."

He paused, aware that this was the greatest moment in his illustrious career.

"As you all know – you, the faithful citizens of Zion, who live your lives by the Sacred Books of the Infinity – there are clear signs that God is displeased with a nation. First, they are struck by pestilence, famine and wild beasts. Second, if their sins are grave, they are handed over to another nation to be conquered and enslaved."

"My friends, we see the awesome justice of the Infinity in our lives today. Galvenia, a godless country who broke faith with us, was ravaged by wild beasts yesterday. The Varald, atheists and regicides, have been struck with a deadly plague for weeks. And Itaria, who were supposed to defend the Faith but failed to do so, have not been able to defend themselves from invasion."

A round of cheers and applause greeted these announcements, with the listeners clearly oblivious to the fact that their Empire was the invader in question.

"But that is not all. Consider that at the beginning of last year, our Emperor was so ill that he could not appear in public; his son was murdered by the Varald assassins; and we were attacked by their armies. Today, we are recapturing our lands and the Zion stand strong. When the Infinity is pleased with a nation, he protects the people and their ruler. Today, my friends, he has protected and healed the Emperor, God's hand on Terra, and made it possible for him to stand before you! Praise the Infinity, source of life and victory!"

The doors of the balcony were thrown open, and Emperor Charlemagne appeared in public for the first time in six years. He seemed old and frail, but he could walk without any prop or support, and his steps were sure and steady. A wave of cheering, which seemed as though it could never end, broke out among the crowd as the people bowed to receive their Emperor's blessing.

And then, for the first time in six years, he spoke. His voice was unsteady, but he spoke slowly and deliberately.

"People of Zion!"

"People of Zion, I, Emperor Charlemagne, Emperor of Zion and of all her dependencies and vassals, Defender of the Faithful, stand before you to assure you that the Empire and the Faith will never die."

He paused, obviously short of breath.

"Furthermore," Archbishop Gruner went on, "by a solemn edict of the Council of Bishops and the Council of Viceroys, ratified by the Emperor, we, the rulers of Zion, hereby declare that Pontiff Pious XXI, and those Bishops following him, are illegitimate rulers of the Church of the Infinity, who have violated a sacred trust by attacking the troops of the Defender of the Faithful."

There was pin-drop silence in the square.

"By the powers invested in me," Charlemagne said shakily, placing a large gold chain – an identical replica of the one worn by Pious XXI – around Gruner's neck, "I hereby declare Archbishop Eduardus Gruner the Supreme Pontiff of the Church of the Infinity. He will take the regnal name of Maximillian." Confusion broke out among the crowd, with some cheering, and others wondering if the Infinity would strike Gruner with a thunderbolt. There was a sound of scuffles, and two shots rang out, as loud as the peals of a bell.

"Furthermore," the new Pontiff Maximillian said, "those who oppose this decree are guilty of treason against God and the Emperor. People of Zion, you have our blessing."

Slowly, steadily, the applause and cheering grew louder until it was deafening, drowning out any little protest that remained. The bells of Saint Friederich began to ring, and it seemed to those present that they were witnessing a birth – the birth of a new era of history.

xxx

"I have finished studying the book in its entirety," the elderly man known as Qasim said, looking across the table at David, Emily and Lavie. After some soul-searching, she had decided to tell her parents about the book; while Sigmund, preoccupied with the details of his departure, was not unduly concerned, Emily had been worried, and had insisted on accompanying Lavie to her next appointment with the Republican trader. "I am ready to tell you what I know."

"Mr. Qasim," Emily said in her gentle voice, "please tell us what you can. I know my father or mother would never preserve information unless it was valuable. Besides, my daughter has already told us about her fears that a family friend might be involved. Please be explicit."

"Very well," Qasim replied. "First of all, it is not at all improbable that there are living Journeymen in Galvenia, or at least descendents of theirs. Though most of them came here, as I was telling Miss Lavender, some of them did settle in Galvenia and mingled with the local population. The most famous of them, of course, is Albrut, who joined the army and was revered by Galvenia's elite corps, the Rough Riders."

Emily's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Now, as far as the reconstruction of your father's list goes, Mrs. Regale, I am quite certain that we have done so as accurately as we could. My focus is now on the last names on that list, and on the riddle of the A that became an E."

"Of course, your daughter's guess that the descendants of Aramondrius changed their name to Eramond is possible, but it is not likely. Aramondrius may not have been popular in his time, but he was hardly an outcast. The only circumstances in which this might have happened is if one of the Eramonds – I use the name out of convenience – wanted to join the Army. In that case, a change would make sense, for Aramondrius was a pacifist, and he was held in contempt by most military writers and theorists."

"Ryan's grandpa was a war hero," Lavie said softly.

"Then I think we must proceed with this hypothesis. However, we run into a roadblock again there. The last man on the family tree, T.A., is listed as being married twice – either that, or there were two men with the same initials. Twins, perhaps?"

"I've never heard of Ryan's dad having an evil twin," Lavie said, trying to laugh.

"Moreover, look at the dates of their marriages – 268 and 279. Perhaps one of those sons was illegitimate."

Emily made a face. "Gustav Eramond wasn't that kind of person," he said. "Father personally knew him. He was a soldier of the old school."

"At any rate, I found a further inscription on a later page." He held the journal open in front of them, and showed them the page. Amidst a series of smaller notations, there were two lines pencilled in:

_T.A. m. L.A. c.y. 268 iss. ?, ?..._

_T.A. m. S.R. c.y. 279 iss. R.A. (cannot be sure which…)_

"It would seem that these are two different people; only the second could match your friend and his father. Please note that this second inscription seems later than the first list; R.A. is not given any initials in that list."

"But what does it mean?" Lavie said, puzzled.

"Was your father interested in magic, or magically gifted, Mrs. Regale?" Qasim said suddenly.

"Not to my knowledge," Emily replied, shaking her head.

"And what about your friend Ryan?" he asked Lavie.

"Um, I'm almost sure he can't _do_ magic, though he likes reading about it," she answered.

"Then the meaning is clear. Leaving aside the identity of the first T.A., either his children or your Ryan is the lineal descendant of Aramondrius and Celia, daughter of Lucien; and therefore, they are lineal descendants of Kaleb the Journeyman."

"Does Albrut have anything to do with this?" Emily asked.

"Not really, Mrs. Regale," Qasim said calmly. "Why do you ask?"

"I remember Father telling me about Albrut once; it was around the time I married Sigmund. He said that though Albrut was a great warrior, his bloodline had died out; his last descendant, a daughter, had died when I was a young girl. He implied that there was something tragic about her death, but he didn't say what it was."

"Then the first T.A. could refer to the Albrut girl," Qasim said, beaming at her. "I suspected this, but now it is clear. Albrut's faction of Journeymen left for Galvenia because they couldn't get on with Jasen's. What this means is that, if the Albrut girl left a son, and Lucien's daughter left a son, there are two competitors for the leadership of the Order. That's always dangerous."

"But the Order does not exist any more, Qasim," David pointed out. "What difference does it make if you, or I, or even Lavie is the last descendant of the Journeymen?"

"Has it not occurred to you, David," Qasim said quietly, "that in these troubled times, a title like that would be far from worthless? Charlemagne's barons have already deposed a Pontiff, whether he likes it or not. If the Emperor could get a Journeyman on his side, and place him in command of his mage battalions, then…."

"That's a pipe dream," David argued. "Besides, he may not even have any magical abilities."

"Ah, but to the Zion, descent is all-important," Qasim retorted. "Now, if you will permit me, may I speak to Miss Regale in person?" He looked at Lavie with a concerned, almost paternal expression.

"Lavie?" Emily said. "But why?"

"I think she has a right to hear certain things, Mrs. Regale. Rest assured, I will not harm her; I swear it by my ancestral house."

"All right," Lavie said suddenly. She rose from her seat, and Qasim took her into another study, quite similar to the first one. He closed the door, and unlocked a safe that was set into the wall.

"Miss Regale," he said, "I am an old man, and one of the privileges of being old is that I can be a little impertinent. Will you take some advice from me?"

"If it's good advice, certainly," Lavie replied.

Qasim had removed a long case from the safe, and placed it on the table. "Now, tell me the truth, Miss Regale. You care for this Ryan Eramond, do you not?"

"I do," Lavie said simply.

"Deeply?"

She blushed, and nodded her assent.

"But you are uncertain if he reciprocates your feelings – no, let me call things what they are. You are afraid that he does not, and that he may never, reciprocate them."

"H – how did you know that?" Lavie gasped.

"My dear Miss Regale, I have five sons, four daughters, and twenty grandchildren," he said genially. "Experience is everything. Now let me tell you something. It is entirely possible, as a daughter of Lucien yourself – though in the distaff line – that you may be of great assistance to him one day. The fact that he does not have the gift is immaterial; it may be dormant, or he may distinguish himself in other ways. But the fact that your life and his have touched indicates that this is no coincidence."

He opened the case, revealing a sword.

"Traditions are tricky things, Miss Regale, and sometimes I wonder if I am naïve for believing them. But if the experience of my entire life, the studies of my forefathers, and the chronicles of Inderness do not lie, what I now show you, Miss Regale, is the sword of Kaleb the Journeymen."

Lavie stared at the sword, awed.

"If I were younger," Qasim said wistfully, "I would travel to Galvenia with you, and meet the young man himself – in fact, even now, I am tempted to do so before I die. But I must not be foolish. When you see him again, Miss Regale, give him the sword, and tell him what I have told you. Can you do this for me?"

"I will," Lavie replied, picking up the sword. It was strong, but light, and she ran a finger along its blade.

"Then, you have my eternal gratitude. But always remember one thing, Miss Regale. Nothing in this world – not money, not possessions, not even an invaluable service – entitles us to the love of another. Affection cannot be purchased. If you care for this young man, Miss Regale, do all you can to help him. Give him the sword. Lend him your support. Be his guide when his path seems unclear. But do all these things without hope of return. Do not expect him to fall on his knees before you, even if you have done enough to merit it and more. He may never do so. Even if you follow my words, Miss Regale, you still may not possess him. But there is one thing you will still have, though you may lose him."

"What – is that, Mr. Qasim?" Lavie asked, her voice filled with pain.

"Happiness, my child," Qasim said, and once again, the look he gave her was of a loving parent. "It is what you deserve, and if you are true to your destiny, it is what you will find. Happiness does not always mean obtaining a desired object. Sometimes, it is found in wastelands rather than fields of flowers; in humble cottages, rather than in palaces; in a glass bead, rather than in a gold ring. But it always finds those who are truly deserving – and you, child, are one of them. Your Journeyman friend may not be one, but you are."

He placed his hand over her head.

"Go in peace, Miss Regale," he said, as he handed her the case with the sword, "and may the Most High protect you."

"Thank you, Mr. Qasim," Lavie replied, wiping her eyes and smiling at him. They bowed to each other, and she walked out, a determined spring in her step.

_Ryan_, she thought, _I will help you._

_xxx_


	13. Chapter 12: Sickness

**CHAPTER TWELVE**  
_**Sickness**_

**WILHELM IX, CROWN PRINCE OF ZION **_**(C.Y. 276 – 300)**__….Before his untimely death on board a cruise liner (cf. ASSASSINATION OF WILHELM IX), on which he was returning home following military negotiations with King Arlbert III (q.v.), Prince Wilhelm was the visible face of the Zion monarchy for several years. Of a warm and affectionate disposition, he was also a man of learning, who encouraged both the sciences and the arts in Zion…_

…_Perhaps more controversially, given this reputation, was Prince Wilhelm's well-documented antipathy to magic and its study. Though he encouraged the development of military technology in Zion, he placed strict curbs on magical instruction, and frequently clashed with Zion prelates of the Church of the Infinity, whom he perceived as remiss in dealing with abuses of magical powers…._

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Good work, boys," Colonel Arthur observed, as the Galvenian troops finished securing Ozun City once more. "Your suggestion of perimeter traps for the lions was a good one, Second Lieutenant – even if they don't die, they're either caught or poisoned."

"It's an idea I got from an old friend of mine," Ryan replied. "But we still have a problem to solve, Sir. Where are those beasts coming from?"

"I'll be hanged if I know, Eramond," the Colonel replied. "They've never been reported around here, and the timing of their attacks is too neat. I never thought the day would come when the almighty Zion would be reduced to using wild beasts as weapons, though."

"So what's our next plan?" Sergeant Davies said. "Ryan, the latest radio intercepts say that they're planning to send more reinforcements, and more cannons. Worse, they're withdrawing some of their troops from the Ghetz border."

"Well, if they want a fight, we have the cannons too, Sergeant," Colonel Arthur replied. "But are they insane? First they elevate that puppet Gruner as Pontiff – something that their people aren't uniformly thrilled about, let me tell you" – he laughed – "and now they want to concentrate on us? By King Richard, the Varald will have them for breakfast if they slacken like this!"

"That's true, sir," Ryan observed. "Even the plague that has broken out there doesn't seem to be stopping them, thanks to their policy of conscription and their containment policies; villages have been sealed off, and the Capital keeps sending more reinforcements. Even when weakened, they're still dangerous, and the last three months have made the Zion look pretty silly."

"Anyway, Davies, here's the plan," Colonel Arthur said. "The three divisions dispatched from the Capital will move in and secure our posts, and they will be bringing more traps and baits with them. Since those creatures also hate fire, we'll have fires burning. In the meantime, Eramond's men will move beyond Checkpoint Alpha, and will capture the two small towns adjacent to Darington."

Ryan nodded. "But won't Darington itself be reinforced, Sir?" Davies asked.

"Ah, that's where we come in, Jim. We'll be moving the heavy artillery as close to Darington as we can, and as more men move in, we'll besiege the town. Our aim is not to invade it, but to wear them down and make them surrender. Moreover, Intelligence reports state that many of the citizens there are rebelling against the Emperor's attacks on Galvenia, and that we might not encounter that much resistance. Even if we do, though, we'll have help. The Rough Riders are also joining us."

"Sir Prescott?" Ryan chuckled. "I've had a run-in with him before I even signed up, Sir."

"_Everyone_ has run-ins with Prescott," Colonel Arthur joked. "Besides, he will lead the attack on Darington once he gets here, and you'll guard the corridor from Alpha to the towns near Darington. There are just two of them: the village of Victoria, and the sparsely-inhabited town of Saint Maximillian, near the pass in the hills that leads to the coast. They're not worth much, but if we capture them, we have a decisive edge over the Zion."

"Fair enough, Sir," Davies said approvingly. "Let's get ready."

xxx

"Another attack on a Commonwealth facility," Lord Lucan said gloomily. "Gentlemen, this does not look good."

"You have a certain gift for stating the obvious, Lucan," Kanoi said icily. The news from the Arlia front had left him in a bad mood, and he had already vented his spleen on anyone, including Archbishop Mazarus, who had spoken to him that morning. "Of course it does not look good. What would you have us do?"

"Why, strengthen defences at our outposts in all the nations, my dear Kanoi," Jansen said, glaring at him. He was not in good humour either – a division of Zion mages had recaptured several posts that his soldiers held, and though the plague had been partly contained, new victims were reported every day. "Given the state of the world, Viceroy, can we afford another Chespa Bay?"

"God forbid," Mazarus said. "The Infinity would never permit such wickedness, except as a drastic chastisement for the sins of men." He looked at Kanoi meaningfully, and the latter paled.

"Well, creating a false Pontiff ought to count as quite a drastic sin, Archbishop," Jedda replied, with a laugh. "Perhaps we ought to gear up, as the Galvenians say – they have such lovely phrases! – for precisely another Chespa Bay."

"Gentlemen," President Hipper said, in his usual calm tone, "let us have a vote on this. Should we deploy additional members of the CSF to protect Commonwealth offices and trade outposts across Terra? So far, there have been three attacks in the Republic, two in the Zion Empire, three in the Varald Directorate, one in Itaria, and two in Galvenia. No nation has been spared. Should we act immediately, or wait and gather intelligence about these mysterious foes?"

Kanoi, whose voting privileges had been taken away, swore under his breath.

"How many favour reinforcements?" Hipper went on.

The hands of Jedda, Mazarus and Lucan were raised.

"I abstain, Mr. President," Jansen said. "I am of the opinion that the CSF need to pursue the conflict in Itaria more vigorously. These pin-pricks cannot harm us."

"Speak for yourself, Jansen," Jedda retorted. "Trade has suffered because of those 'pin-pricks'. The Itarians' God will protect them, but we of the Commonwealth enjoy no such divine favour."

"I shall pray for you, Jedda," Mazarus said sarcastically. "And I also agree that anything which destabilizes the Commonwealth is the first step to a return of chaos on Terra. It must be opposed."

"I agree with Mazarus," Lucan added. "For three hundred years, the Commonwealth has stood for the unity and brotherhood of all men on Terra. We cannot allow a year of violence to ruin it all."

"Then, it is decided," Hipper said, placing his hands on the table. "We shall send more men, and hopefully, these attacks will be a thing of the past."

xxx

As summer turned to autumn, the mood in Galvenia was neither optimistic nor pessimistic – it was weary. The war with the Zion showed no signs of ending. Even the entrance of the Rough Riders into the fray had only brought limited success, as the Zion redoubled their efforts despite the fall of the two towns outside Darington. Darington itself had been strengthened by several Imperial divisions and mage battalions, and though Galvenian territories had been recaptured, the frontier was still the site of fierce battles. Ryan Eramond, wounded twice during the siege of Darington and promoted to Lieutenant, had now returned to the front.

The royal wedding of Princess Carranya and the Duke of Marksmith had been postponed indefinitely; according to a proclamation from the Court of King Arlbert, this was on account of the war. Talk of a draft, given the stalemate at the war front, was in the air, creating excitement and alarm among the youth of Galvenia.

A more curious development was the arrival of large numbers of Itarian pilgrims – many of them making the perilous journey to Galvenia at the risk of their own lives, across fleets of Zion ships – to visit their Pontiff in Exile. There was even a slow, but definite growth in Church membership, as not a few Galvenians began to identify their cause with that of the besieged continent of Itaria. A large shipment of pilgrims had been torpedoed by a Zion submarine in the Sea of Arlia fifteen days earlier, causing widespread condemnation at the Commonwealth and much mourning in the Pontiff's household.

The Varald, after over a year of fighting, were beginning to suffer heavy casualties. Decimated by sickness, they still held their territories, but it was becoming clear to them that they could do so only at a rising cost. New cases of the mysterious fever were being reported further inland, and the Varald scientists, despite their best efforts, could not trace its origin.

Further attacks on Commonwealth installations had taken place, despite Terrin Hipper's reinforcements. At three of these sites, a corpse had been found, which – like the first one found in the Republic – showed signs of death by electrocution.

Sigmund Regale and his family had returned to Davenport three weeks earlier. Almost immediately on his arrival, he had been summoned to Lorean by Prime Minister Sheffield for a confidential meeting, and he had spent most of his time there, leaving Emily and Lavie at Casa Regale with the domestic help.

It was against this background that Henrik Spenson and Viola Benise returned to their hometown of Davenport for a short vacation. Circumstances – including the removal of several of the faculty of King's College to aid in the war effort – had altered the College calendar, and they were free to do as they pleased for the next two weeks.

This evening, they were gathered with their old friends and classmates at "the Harp and the Sea", Davenport's seafood restaurant and meeting-place, eagerly discussing the events of the past sixteen months.

"Think they'll be drafting us?" Roger Foley observed, trying to maintain a calm exterior. "You were at the capital, Henrik. What do you say?"

"They might," Henrik replied. "I know Ryan doesn't write back anymore – he's been in and out of hospital, anyway – but the rumour is that Sheffield's going to make an announcement this week, on Lord Raymond Chester's birth anniversary."

"Does that mean _all_ the men of Davenport have to report?" Lavie said anxiously.

"All those who are fit, certainly," Lloyd Ragell replied. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it, but if we've got to go, we've got to go."

"I bet that doesn't include you, Lloyd," Greg Sanders said cockily. "You'd fall asleep trying to put on your combat boots."

"I heard they still put people in the brig for drunkenness," Cathy Weseluc said innocently, and Greg turned red in the face, then tried to counter-attack.

"So how does it feel to stay behind, Spenson, when your Compadres are both serving the country?" he said, teasingly. "How about a white feather in that snazzy jacket of yours, huh?"

"Oh, I've done my part, Reynolds," Henrik said calmly. "I agree all of us can't contribute to the Galvenian brewing industry on your scale, but Viola and I have run a few errands for the right people. Can't tell you about it, though. Loose lips sink ships, especially in bars."

Lavie burst out laughing at this, and Greg glared at Henrik.

"Very funny, Spenson," he grumbled. "If you have nothing intelligent to say, I think I'll be on my way. Good day, gentlemen."

As he stormed out of the room, more than one person laughed.

"Good riddance," Cathy said, as the door slammed. "Who needs a bottle-head like him, anyway? Let's talk about something more pleasant. How's it in the Republic, Lavie?"

"Oh, nice enough, Cath," Lavie replied. "Aunt Leah and Uncle David were a lot of fun, though it was way too hot out there!"

"Well, you've got a nice tan," Viola said consolingly, "so I guess that makes up for it. Is it true that you have to cover your head whenever you go out there?"

"Not in Indernes, Viola," Lavie replied. "It's an old city, and they don't have that tradition – unlike at their capital, Jadeed."

"We're all glad about your dad, Lavie," Myna Patel said. "Only an idiot would think that he killed the Prime Minister!"

"I'm sure that was done by Zion agents," Roger Foley said darkly.

"Or his wife," Lloyd Ragell suggested with a smile

"You're confusing him with King Arlbert," Cathy retorted. "Socius never had trouble with his wife! It's the King who keeps, um, fooling around."

"Speaking of that, Cath," Rachel Stonewell said, "what happened to the Princess' wedding? As Davenport's official Rumour Mill, you ought to know!"

Cathy laughed. "Daddy's only a clerk at the Mayor's office, Rachel," she replied, "so he doesn't exactly hear everything that happens at the Palace. But I've heard things, indeed!" She winked.

"So have I," Henrik replied. "Apparently, after she was captured and rescued, the Palace has been concerned about an assassination attempt at a public event. That's why they're postponing it."

Lavie shivered. "Ugh, that's horrible!" she said. "Well, I have a more cheerful explanation. According to some of Mom's friends, her parents having second thoughts about the Duke of Marksmith, and they want her to marry a noble who's either in the Army, or a veteran. Doesn't that make sense?"

"She can marry Sir Prescott, then," Roger suggested. "He's the only nobleman I know in the Army who's actually fighting and winning stuff for us."

"Sir Prescott?" Henrik smiled. "Actually, I have a passing acquaintance with him."

"Oooh, juicy!" Cathy exclaimed. "I really envy you two guys, really. All the hot gossip is at Lorean, and I'm stuck here! Maybe I should try this college wheeze."

"Hi, everyone," Jaina Vellin said, entering the room a trifle breathlessly. "Am I late? Daddy needed a little help tonight, because the sailors were down and he was short of hands."

"No trouble, Jaina," Lavie said kindly. "We were just discussing the Princess' wedding."

"Oh, what a coincidence!" Jaina said excitedly. "That's what the sailors were talking about, too! One of them was in his cups, and waxing sentimental about his wife and kids at home, and they got onto the topic of the Princess!"

"And what did they say?" Henrik said, with a laugh. "Did any of them have a crush on her?"

"Very funny, Henrik," Viola replied. "Though that does sound like most sailors, if what Daddy told me was true. He had to put up with no end of ribbing because he wouldn't drink anything stronger than cider."

"Hey, cider's good," Roger said kindly. "I'm not knocking it."

"No, you sillies," Jaina replied. "It was something much bigger than that!"

"I'm liking this!" Cathy said hopefully.

"Let me guess, she's eloped with Sir Prescott," Lloyd said lazily.

"Quiet, you dope," Jaina said good-humouredly. "Anyway, it seems that the Princess doesn't really want to marry the Duke, but she has to, because that's what her parents and the Government both want."

"Sounds like a novel," Henrik said innocently, and Lavie and Viola both giggled. "Let me guess, she's actually in love with a groom, a Royal Guard, or some other undesirable."

"Maybe it's the Prime Minister, and she's mourning him," Roger suggested.

"Or the Pontiff!" Cathy suggested. "That would be totally tragic, since Pontiffs can't marry!"

"Or _Juno_," Lavie suggested, with a laugh.

"Shh, it's much better than that! Come on, guys," Jaina urged them. "Think of _the_ standard plot in historical novels."

"Um, 'Save the princess?'" Viola suggested.

"That's right!" Jaina replied. "Going to King's College certainly does make you clever! Now put two and two together."

Cathy's eyes widened. "You're pulling my leg, Janie. You're kidding, right? Not Sir Cool!"

"Ryan?" Henrik whistled. "Well, if he can make it back from the war in one piece, it'll still be an uphill task. Still, if that's true, more power to the Three Compadres!"

"Ryan?" Lavie said in dismay, heedless of the joking and excitement around her. "This – this is a joke, right?"

Jaina looked at Lavie with concern. "Hey, Lavie, I'm sorry," she said. "It's just sailors' gossip, right? Don't let it get to you."

"Were they serious about it?" Lavie went on, feeling her heart beat slowly and heavily.

"They sounded like it, sure," Jaina explained. "One of them was a transfer in from the Army, and he said he'd been with Ryan on the rescue mission. That's how he, um, came to know."

"I'm really sorry, guys," Lavie said, rising suddenly from her chair, "but I – I really have to go. Catch you later, okay?"

And without a word, she rushed out of the room.

"That was cruel, Jaina," Cathy said reproachfully. "Don't you know Lavie's been pining after Ryan for years now?"

"I'm truly sorry," Jaina said, remorse writ large on her face. "I honestly forgot."

"Hmm, don't worry, Jaina," Roger said. "Lavie's like that. She once yelled at me when I suggested that Ryan and Marianne made a cute pair, and she apologized the next day. Just go and talk to her once she cools down, okay?"

"That sounds like a good suggestion," Viola agreed. "As the boys in the football team at King's College say, don't sweat it!"

"Thanks, guys," Jaina said.

"Why don't we talk about something else?" Myna suggested.

"As long as it's not school, I'm with you," Lloyd joked, and good humour was restored, with the assembled young men and women only pausing occasionally to spare a thought for Lavie and her discomfiture.

But Lavie was not pining, and neither was she jealous. She was thinking of two lines in a journal, and she was afraid.

xxx

"What ho, Sheffield!" King Arlbert said, unable to contain his good humour despite the fierce fighting that his army was involved in. He had had a good day's hunt, had taken a pleasant walk with Carranya in the Palace gardens, and was on his way to demolish a large lunch. "And how is my new Prime Minister enjoying his job?"

"Quite well, Sire," Sheffield said with a sigh. "It would be a lot better if the Zion were to stop their foolish incursions, but we must make the best of a bad job."

Arlbert chuckled. "Would you like me to sue for peace? It might be worth a try, if they agree to an advantageous treaty."

"Unfortunately, the Zion are in no mood to parley, Sire," Sheffield explained. "They are heartened by the plague in the Varald Directorate, as well as the inexplicable recovery of Charlemagne. Unless we inflict heavy defeats on them and push them back, they will not surrender."

"Do what you must, Sheffield," Arlbert said genially. "I'm off to my luncheon, and please don't disturb me."

"Very well, Sire," Sheffield said, making his way to his own room, where Sir Cornelius was waiting for him.

"Prescott has reported Zion troop movements through the hills," Cornelius began. "From our radio interceptions – and the decryption skills of my old friend Lolek – it seems they are gathering in two clusters: one near Victoria, and a smaller one near Ismar, about five miles north of Darington."

"Does that mean they are abandoning Darington?" Sheffield wondered. "That doesn't make sense."

"Most likely, they hope to lure our men into an early engagement," Fairfax replied. "Prescott is of the opinion that we should split our forces – one should completely overrun Victoria, and seal the coast, in case they are bringing in weapons or other materials that way. The other will remain at Darington. If the men from Ismar march to reinforce Darington, we will send additional forces from Checkpoint Alpha."

"That is a wise plan, though they will probably face stiff resistance at Victoria," Sheffield replied. "However, if we wish to put an end to this, we will still need more forces. Thanks to your friend's work, we now know that they are recalling large numbers of troops from the Varald border. Some of them will go to Itaria, where the CSF are still holding them off, but most of them will come here."

"If that is so, then conscription is inevitable," Fairfax said softly. "What galls me is that we've lost our best chance of compromising the traitors here. We know who they are – except for one or two of them – but that fool who stole the decrypted messages has put us in a deep hole."

"Do you have any idea who he is?" Sheffield asked.

"We do," Fairfax replied. "Some of our men were able to identify him from an earlier encounter. His name is Makarov Juno, and he lives in Davenport. He was allegedly aiding the Zion, using illegal magic weapons, during the rescue of Princess Carranya by Ryan Eramond's team."

"Juno – why does that name sound familiar?" Sheffield said sharply. "Wasn't there some incident in Davenport, many years ago?"

"A soldier named Franz Juno of the Territorial Army was killed defending the town from a bandit attack in 288," Fairfax replied. "This Makarov, according to our records, is his son."

"Tsk,tsk," Sheffield replied. "A soldier's son turning traitor? What for, Fairfax, what for?"

"I think there is more to the story than that," Fairfax observed, "but it's an old file, and may have been sealed for other reasons. At any rate, we have interrogated his mother – a harmless, gentle soul, who seems to have let the boy run wild – but she honestly admits to having no clue of his whereabouts, though he did leave her a note saying he was 'going to serve his country'. She is as eager to find him as we are. We are having her house discreetly watched, just to be on the safe side."

"Good enough, Fairfax," Sheffield replied. "We will begin by asking for volunteers over the next one month. If this suffices, or if the Zion weaken, that will be all. If not, we will launch the draft at the beginning of September. For the rest, continue collecting information on your suspects, and if you have anything that we can clearly act on, then I will authorize you to use our covert forces. Until then, my friend, be discreet."

"Oh, I will," Fairfax replied with a smile. "You can count on that."

xxx

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," the young man said, helping Cathy get up. "That sign is in rather an inconvenient location, I'm afraid."

Cathy grimaced, but smiled when she looked at the face of the man who offered her his hand. He wore the red uniform of a Galvenian officer, was red-haired, and while he was far from handsome, his grin was hard to resist. Hopping on one foot, she relaxed on noticing that she had not sprained her ankle, and looked crossly at the freshly painted sign outside the Mayor's office.

_Galvenian Royal Army  
Provisional Recruitment Office  
City of Davenport_

"Here's your bonnet, Miss," the soldier replied, picking it up from the ground and handing it to her. "Watch your step!"

"Recruitment Office?" Cathy laughed. "Don't tell me you've come to take our boys away, and condemn us to all being old maids!"

"Not quite yet, Miss –"

"Weseluc, Officer. Catherine Weseluc, though everyone calls me Cathy. Dad told me the Army would be coming to town soon, but I didn't know it would be _this _soon!"

"Oh, I believe I met him this morning," the man replied. "I'm Peter Huntington, and I'm an instructor from the Military Academy at Lorean, though if you enjoy ranks, I'd be 'Second Lieutenant Huntington'. Pretty small potatoes, actually."

"You're funny," Cathy replied encouragingly. "So does your Army accept women?"

"Why, Miss, surely you don't intend joining up?" Huntington said innocently.

Cathy clapped her hands. "You've got me there, Second Lieutenant, I was just kidding! But let's make a deal. Don't recruit me, and I'll spread the word among everyone in town. Soon you'll have all the able-bodied men in Davenport lining up to join."

"For the moment," Huntington explained, amused by the girl's high spirits, "we're only asking for volunteers. Prime Minister Sheffield will probably start conscription only in autumn, so you can tell your friends to relax until then. But if Sir Prescott's current offensive doesn't work, then I dare say you'll see a lot of your friends in uniform."

"That's juicy! Can I add this to the Rumour Mill, or is it something hush-hush?" Cathy asked.

"Oh, spread as many rumours as you want, Miss," Huntington joked. "Only don't confuse me with Sir Prescott; he may be a great soldier, but he takes himself far too seriously! Good day to you, Miss Weseluc."

"Have a great day!" she replied, as she walked away from the office, careful to avoid the sign as she did so.

xxx

"Nonsense," Sir Prescott said over the radio. "I will lead the team to Victoria, while the younger men will hold the line at Darington. With all due respect, General, I am in the battlefield, and you are behind your desk. This is a delicate mission, and I insist on being given a free hand as far as strategy is concerned."

"Sir Prescott, though you may command the Rough Riders, I am the commander of the Galvenian Armed Forces," General Freeman – Lord Freeman of Alton – replied, in a commanding tone. "We cannot afford to lose you this early. Send another division to Victoria, at least as a vanguard, and follow them once you are certain that it is not an ambush."

"Hmm," Sir Prescott replied. "That actually makes sense, General. Very well. I shall pick out one troop of the new recruits and send them on a scout mission to Victoria. If they can rule out any scurvy tricks on the part of the Zion, I shall proceed with my plan. Is that satisfactory?"

"Quite so, Prescott, quite so," General Freeman replied. "End communication."

"I wonder why they're so concerned," Captain Rawley, his adjutant, remarked. "Do they know something we don't?"

"Even if they did – and I wouldn't put it behind a flatterer like Freeman – it makes no difference to us, Rawley. We are the Rough Riders. "First in, last out." That's our slogan. We will merely throw a sop to Freeman by using a small scout party – say, about forty or fifty men."

"From the regular infantry?" Rawley said, with an approving nod. "That is a good idea, especially if they're not telling us the whole truth. Whom do you want to use?"

"The Fourth or Fifth Assault Corps, perhaps, Rawley," Sir Prescott replied. "Which would you recommend?"

"Well, the Fifth has been doing decent work under that new lieutenant – what's his name – Eramond," Rawley replied.

"Eramond?" Sir Prescott laughed. "Surely not the silly lad I once taught a lesson to at the Academy."

Captain Rawley knew that this statement was false – for Sir Prescott's 'duel' with Ryan and his friends was now a minor legend – but he respected his Commander, who was both intelligent and talented, and refrained from correcting him. "I think it's the same young man, Sir Prescott," he replied.

"Oh, in that case, send him, Rawley. If there is danger, let him face it. If it is a safe task, there is no danger of his earning a medal." He laughed. "Tell them to be ready at 0700 hours, then. We will move as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Sir Prescott," Captain Rawley replied, saluting as he left.

xxx

"It is good to see you, Your Holiness," Mother Anna said, with a reverent bow. She knelt to kiss his ring, then sat down in the small room he now occupied, in the Friary of the Sons of Saint Nealus at Lorean. "And I must apologize for the inconvenience I have caused you. If I had been more discreet in my youth…"

"Think nothing of it, Anna," Pious XXI replied. "You had reasons for sharing the knowledge that was gifted you, and you could not know that it would be abused in this way. Even we have understood the truth only recently."

"Those wicked Zion," Anna said, trembling with indignation. "I hope they, and their anti-Pontiff Maximillian, repent before it is too late."

"Unfortunately, I cannot tell fortunes, my good Anna," the Pontiff said kindly. "But it is possible that at least some of them will see the light."

"I am tired, Pontiff," Anna said, desolate. "I am an old woman, and I nearly did not survive the journey here. My arrival provided the Zion with a convenient _casus belli_. And I am alone. All I have are the memories of brighter days. Mother, Father – dear Ludwig – good Father Alois. All gone…" Tears came to the old woman's eyes.

"Take my handkerchief, Anna," Pious said gently, proffering a large scrap of cambric.

"I am foolish to cry, Your Holiness, but I am only flesh and blood," Anna said, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. "When I saw the glorious face of Saint Geraud, I thought I would be like him – a messenger of peace. And yet my message has brought war, destruction, and schism in the Church. Is it a punishment for my sins, Your Holiness? Am I accursed?"

Pious placed his hands over the woman's head and blessed her.

"Rest assured, Anna," he replied. "You are certainly not accursed. As for your message, it was perhaps necessary that the Apostle of Peace should warn us of threats to unity. Now, there is only one thing I wish to ask you. I have here" – he unrolled a large scroll – "the actual text of the so-called Secret Prophecy of Geraud, as you dictated it to Father Alois Loranger in C.Y. 245. I want you to read it, and confirm that there is no mistake in it."

"Yes, Your Holiness," Anna said meekly. She read the fading lines with difficulty, for her eyes were ageing, and then looked up.

"It is correct, Your Holiness," she said.

"Then, my good Anna, look at the portions here" – he pointed to a line – "and here. Do you swear, by your most solemn vows as a Bride of the Infinity, that they are accurate?"

"Of course, Your Holiness," Anna said, surprised by the Pontiff's vehemence.

"Thank you, Anna." He sighed. "It is as I have suspected for some time. I now know exactly how this will play out, and when we will have to unveil the Secret in all its fullness. It is our only hope of healing the spiritual sickness that has struck Terra. But prepare yourself, good mother, for you will see worse things than war and schism in less than two years. I know that you are brave, despite your years, and that you will help me."

"God save us all," Anna whispered.

"He will," Pious replied confidently. "But only if we wish to be saved."

xxx

It was early in the morning when Ryan began to lead his men to Victoria. They had only covered a little distance when a man emerged from the woods. He wore the uniform of a Galvenian army reserve, and he was smiling.

"Lieutenant Eramond?" he said. "Terribly sorry to interrupt you, but I have important information."

"What is it?" Ryan said sharply.

"Let me introduce myself," the man replied, holding out an identity card. "Jason Schenk, Galvenian Covert Operations Service."

"Hmm." Ryan held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Schenk. What seems to be the matter?"

"Listen to me," Jason replied. "You are likely to be ambushed at Victoria if you are not careful. We received word of this only at midnight, and we have hurried to inform you on time. Your forces will easily overpower the men guarding the village, but once you enter, the wild beasts will attack you. While you are dealing with them, a Zion force crossing the hills will swoop down into the bay near Victoria, and catch you with your pants down." He chuckled. "Quite a clever ploy."

"What can we do?" Ryan replied. "We've been ordered to complete this mission by Sir Prescott, and as much as I dislike the man, he's a great strategist – and our superior officer. I can't disobey orders."

"You do not need to," Jason replied. "Here, take this. It will repel or stun the beasts almost instantaneously, giving you ample time to occupy the bay and rout the Zion soldiers before they have time to attack." He held out a sword with a short blade to Ryan, who looked at it curiously. "Fresh from Lorean, Lieutenant."

"What is this?" Ryan asked.

"Tell me, Lieutenant," Jason said. "You've been fighting for over a year now. Surely, at some time, your enemies must have used poisoned blades in close combat. Have you ever noticed that you, unlike your fellow soldiers, are unaffected by them? That you could, without an effort, expel the poison from your body?"

Ryan drew his breath in sharply. "Now that you mention it – I _have_ noticed that. Even when they've used smoke bombs to try and blind us, I've been able to see quite well. What does it mean?"

"Lieutenant," Jason said with a warm smile, "you have a unique power within you – the legacy of an ancient bloodline. Use it wisely, for the good of Galvenia and Terra. Take this sword, and when the beasts emerge as a pack, simply concentrate on one thing: their utter devastation. Will it, Lieutenant, and the sword will obey your will." He turned, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Ryan called out. "What does this all mean? What's going on?"

"I'm afraid explanations will have to wait, Lieutenant," he replied, his voice fading away as the distance between them increased. "Go ahead bravely, for you will certainly win if you follow our advice."

Ryan stood, stunned, at the place where Agent Schenk had left him.

_I've seen that guy before_, he thought. _But where?_

"Ryan," Sergeant Davies said, "what's the matter?"

"Change of plan, men," Ryan said. "They're going to ambush us at Victoria, but fortunately, our secret service has found out about it. Let me tell you what we're going to do."

"Good fight, Ryan," Sergeant Jasper said, as they surveyed the gates of the village. "We've lost two men, but this hick city is ours now!"

"Move in slowly," Ryan said.

As soon as they entered the gates of Victoria, the pack of beasts began to emerge. It seemed that they were coming from every corner and cranny, and Ryan's men – though they were seventy strong, and no cowards – froze.

"Hold the line and fire," Ryan said. "I have a plan."

He drew the sword that Schenk had given him, aimed it at an approaching group of four beasts, and closed his eyes. He felt himself lunging forward, as if prompted by the sword, and a strong wind came up, blowing away from his blade.

"Lousy weather!" Davies grumbled.

It was then that a strange thing happened. The beasts' hides began to tear and shrivel before their eyes, and they began to howl with pain. Some of them retreated, licking their bleeding wounds, while others snarled ineffectually at the approaching Galvenian forces.

"Finish them! Now!" Ryan commanded, as he drew his own rifle and began firing.

In less than an hour, the beasts lay in the deserted streets of Victoria.

"What the heck was that?" Jasper said.

"Some new weapon from the capital," Ryan explained. "That agent wanted me to have it."

"Amazing," Davies said breathlessly.

An elderly man emerged from one of the huts, shaking from head to foot.

"Are they gone?" he cried. "It's been three days! I was afraid we would starve to death…"

"Oh yes, they are, old-timer," Davies replied. "The Galvenian army isn't going to be scared by a pack of wolves, or flying donkeys, or whatever those things are."

"Thank God," the man said simply. "Are you going to – harm us?"

"We're not the Varald," Ryan reassured him. "As long as you stay in your houses, you're safe."

Needing no further encouragement, the man returned to his hut and bolted the door.

"That man seemed mortally scared," Jasper remarked. "Three days. I didn't think the Zion would do that to their own people, frankly."

"Let's secure the bay," Ryan said.

It was a short march, and as his men occupied their positions, they found that the bay itself was deserted. A few fishing boats lay near the pier, swaying in the wind.

"Think it's a trap?" Davies wondered.

That was when they saw them. The Zion men were not only emerging from the hills – they were hiding in the docks, and they fell upon the Galvenian rearguard. The fighting grew fierce, and both sides sustained losses, until silence announced that the Zion forces had fallen back.

Almost at once, a man in the uniform of a Zion lieutenant emerged, along with a smaller troop.

"Back off," he said. "Back off, or we will kill every man, woman and child in this village. Surrender."

"You wouldn't dare," Ryan shot back.

"Oh, yes, we would," he said, as his men dragged an old man – along with a younger woman and three children – in front of him. "Finish them, men."

Ryan watched in horror as the old man and his daughter were cut down. Infuriated, he drew his own weapon and took down three of the Zion soldiers, then drew the smaller sword, staring at the Lieutenant, his face a mask of hate.

_Kill them. Kill them._

The Lieutenant collapsed to the ground, and the men with him were thrown against the stone wall of a hut. Without hesitation, Ryan and his men moved in and shot them all.

"Get those children to safety!" he shouted. "Take them inside one of the huts. There are more men coming!"

He looked up at the hill, where at least a hundred more Zion soldiers were approaching.

"What do we do, Ryan?" Jasper shouted frantically. "Half our men are gone! We can't possibly deal with that kind of force!"

"We'll go down fighting," Ryan replied. "Use the grenade launchers to keep them at bay."

The grenadiers fired, and the front line of the approaching Zion forces fell back. However, the rest of them were approaching fast, until they came to the marshy area that separated them from the bay.

"Fall back and fire!" Ryan ordered, moving forward and firing several times.

"Sweet Infinity!" Davies exclaimed. "Look! Look up!"

Above them, storm clouds were gathering. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and rain began to fall.

"Fall back! This is our best chance!" Ryan said. "Encircle them, and keep firing with all you have!"

The Zion forces, a little slower to react, were instantly mired in the wet, marshy soil. They tried desperately to escape, but were too stunned to react in an organized way, though they did fire back fiercely. After several hours of shooting, all but six of them lay dead, shot or trapped in the mire. These men, realizing that they had been crushed not by the Galvenians but by accident, raised their hands above their heads and dropped their weapons.

It was then that the first division of the Rough Riders began to approach them, with Captain Rawley at its head.

"By Prince Derren," he exclaimed, "what happened here, Eramond?"

Ryan, lowering his weapon and holding his shoulder, which was bleeding, smiled back. "Long story, sir," he replied. "Let's just say that the elements were on our side."

xxx

"I must say, Lavie," Sigmund observed, noticing his daughter's nose buried in a book, "you do seem to have taken up reading with a vengeance after returning from the Republic. Have Leah and David had a good influence on you?"

Lavie blushed. "Er, I guess so, Daddy," she replied.

"The Sickness of Koroth," Sigmund said, reading over her shoulder. "Isn't that a rather morbid topic for a bright young girl like you, my dear?"

"You're right, Daddy," Lavie replied. "I guess I was just worrying about the plague in the Varald Directorate. They say it's spreading to the Republic now. I hope Aunt Leah, Uncle David, and my cousins are all safe."

"Oh, well, I don't think you need to worry too much, Lavie," Sigmund said, patting her on the head. "Indernes is a long way from the border, as they're fond of saying, and the border is a long way from where the Varald and the Zion are fighting. Besides, a desert country like the Republic is full of tropical fevers."

"Thanks, Daddy," she replied. "I hope you're right."

"Enjoy your book, dearest," he said, looking preoccupied. "I have to meet Sheffield again, to discuss mineral shipments from the Republic to Davenport. I must say, this war is involving all of us. Why, next month, they're going to start conscription. If it means greater independence from the Zion, I'm going to support this, as much as I disliked Socius."

"You've got a bee in your bonnet about Socius," Lavie said teasingly. "Can't you let him rest in peace?"

"Perhaps," Sigmund said with a wink as he left the library.

Lavie smiled, then went on reading.

_The location of Koroth is unknown, largely because the Journeymen took a vow of silence not to discuss such a shameful incident; despite the heroism of Kaleb, Koroth was – to them – synonymous with the betrayal and ignoble death of a man whom they had come to view as their next leader. Details of topography and history allow us to conclude that it was on the west coast of Arlia, probably in Zion territory._

_A question that has often been asked about Koroth's plague is: what was the Sickness? If it was natural, why did it break out at that time? If it was demonic, what was the demon's agenda in causing it? "Demons do not perform evil deeds without motivation; rather, they are the willing collaborators of evil men" (Horamin, Sermons, II, 24). Was the entire plague, including the numerous deaths it caused, merely a ploy from the underworld to incite Samath to treachery, and ultimately destroy the Journeymen, sworn enemies of the demons? There are many theories, which we will discuss in increasing order of probability._

_Perhaps the most outlandish theory, held by some Galvenian historians (Richard Erasmus, "The Sacrifices of Koroth"; Gerald Scott, "Demonic Conjurations in Itarian and Zionese Lore"), is that the demon could only be unsealed by a large number of deaths – a human sacrifice, that is. In this view, the demons caused a supernatural sickness – or helped humans spread a natural one – merely to cause enough fatalities to unleash their full powers. Erasmus cites ancient texts from the Church of the Infinity in support of their thesis, but these texts are themselves unclear and may simply refer to deaths in battle, and how demons foment war between the nations. Scott, on the other hand, argues from old Zion chronicles which show a close relationship between mass deaths from any cause and reported cases of demonic possession in their priestly records. These arguments are feeble, but if they are true, they should hearten us: even if Koroth is found, it will be dangerous only if it plays host to death on a large scale._

_A more likely theory, advanced by Zion scholars (foremost among them Kohnburg), is that Samath had foreknowledge of the demon's plans, and perhaps played a role in spreading the Sickness himself…._

Lavie closed the book and sighed.

_I wish I could see Ryan and talk to him in person,_ she thought. _He might be able to help me with this. It's so – creepy. Demons, human sacrifice – do people even do those things nowadays?_

_xxx_


	14. Chapter 13: Power

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**  
_**Power**_

**ERASMUS, RICHARD **_**(C.Y. 219 – 280) **__Galvenian historian, and founder of the Galvenian Society of Lore and Legend. Unlike his contemporaries, who argued for a rigidly scientific approach to history based solely on official records and artefacts, Erasmus and his fellow scholars at King's College defended the 'legendary' approach, in which even an outlandish story could be pared down to its historical kernel. Such stories, he held, were passed on from generation to generation through oral tradition, and were therefore a valuable – if contaminated – source of historical material…_

…_Erasmus also was one of the few Galvenian historians to study religious and spiritual history, including primitive Arlian religion. His contributions to the study of demonology (q.v.) earned him a commendation from Pontiff Jerome of Itaria, and the honourary title of Knight of Hermanus. His son Colin (q.v.) was Mayor of Alton during the events of the Terran War…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"Pontiff," Hunermann said ironically, as Archbishop Gruner – now Maximillian I – walked through the corridors of the Palace, a sad frown on his face, "enlighten me for a moment, if you can."

"I have no time for your taunts, Hunermann," Maximillian said sadly. "I fear we have acted too soon, and endangered our chances of success."

"Do not be a defeatist," Hunermann replied. "These uprisings are mostly local phenomena, and are easily being suppressed by the Territorial Army. Those who call you the Anti-Pontiff are being summarily dealt with. In fact, General Shimura – surely you know Shimura, who is leading the second wave of assault on Itaria – suggests that we revive some of the old punishments if they remain obstinate. A little bonfire in Caledonia, perhaps…"

"Enough of your horrors!" the unfortunate Pontiff said angrily. "Do you not realize that we are on very dangerous ground? Our agents have news that Pious is planning to unveil the entire text of the Secret Prophecy as the new year dawns, if we do not withdraw from his country before that."

"Why should that bother us?" Hunermann said. "Truly, it was a fortunate day when that foolish old woman had her vision. Global war, punishment – and then, a righteous ruler. Meaning His Imperial Highness, Charlemagne III, Defender of the Faith, Pillar of the True Pontiff. He is like putty in our hands, Pontiff. Why are you suddenly turning timorous?"

"Because if he unveils the _whole_ Prophecy, people will start noticing – discrepancies," Maximillian replied. "Besides, what are these horrors I hear of at Victoria? I warned you not to touch that place, Hunermann. It is a place of ill omen, and no good can come of what we do there. Look how the Galvenians decimated our forces there. Pious can easily claim that the thunderstorm which undid your men was a work of God."

"You can just as easily claim that the magical weapon used by Prescott's forces – if that was what it was – is a tool of the Devil himself, Pontiff," Hunermann shot back. "Don't tell me you, of all people, are suffering from a guilty conscience."

"Absolutely not," Maximillian replied indignantly. "What do you take me for, Hunermann? I agreed to help you, despite the flaws in your plan, because I want a strong Church united to a strong Empire. Pious XXI's pacifism, and his maunderings about tolerance and mercy, are unworthy of a true Pontiff. He condemned himself by his own actions, and by his chaotic leadership and populism. But as they say, Hunermann, the devil is in the details. Unless your troops can successfully win wars on three fronts, we are – pardon the vulgarism – in a devil of a mess."

"Have no fear, Pontiff," Hunermann replied. "Only stand firm, and remember that _you_, and not Anti-Pontiff Pious, are the true Commander and Head of the Church of the Infinity. As long as you do not forget this, we can still win."

"Still?" Maximillian shook his head. "May the Infinity have mercy on us all."

"Don't be an old woman, Pontiff," Hunermann said stoutly. "The prophecy will be fulfilled, won't it?"

"That is what I am afraid of," Maximillian replied.

xxx

A month had passed, and despite the major reverse they had incurred at Victoria, the Zion continued to fight. While their ranks were swelled by returning forces from Varaldia – who were now writhing under a nation-wide plague, despite their attempts to continue the fight – the Galvenian army was augmented by recent conscripts. Victoria and the bay were now controlled by Galvenia, as was Darington, but further incursions had been stopped by the force of numbers, and their grip over the latter appeared to be slipping. It was in this context that the leading minds of Galvenia's armed forces assembled at Alton for a confidential meeting.

"We must confiscate that weapon, Sir Prescott," General Freeman argued. "A man with an object of that sort is a loose cannon."

"Perhaps," Prescott said. "What is more interesting is how he obtained it."

"He claims it was given him by an Intelligence agent named Jason Schenk," Sir Cornelius Fairfax said. "Schenk was one of our Covert Operations men. He disappeared in the Varald Directorate two years ago, and there was a strong suspicion that he had gone rogue. It now appears that he was acting on his own initiative."

"Our men from the Museum have had a look at it," Sheffield added, "and there is no doubt that it is both ancient and magical. However, they were unable to get much purchase from it themselves."

"That is why I have asked my friend to join us," Fairfax replied. "He knows more about this matter than we do."

"Is that wise, Fairfax?" Lord Freeman said anxiously. "This is already a sensitive issue, and the fewer people know about it, the better."

"Do not worry, Lord Freeman," Fairfax replied. "Colin is the soul of discretion."

"Colin Erasmus?" Freeman snorted. "What could he do to help us? I remember his crank of a father. Demons here, magicians there, ancient conspiracies everywhere – no, Fairfax. The man was as mad as a hatter."

"I suggest we hear him first," Sir Prescott said calmly. "If he is a lunatic, we will listen to him politely and give him a small reward. If he is not, we could stand to learn from him. Knowledge, gentlemen, is power."

"Send him in, Cornelius," Prime Minister Sheffield said quietly.

Colin Erasmus entered, wearing his Mayor's robes and exuding calm common sense. "Good evening, lords and gentlemen," he said. "I hear you have an interesting problem for me."

"It's about that sword of Lieutenant Eramond's," Sheffield explained. "While we are indebted to it for helping us rout the Varald, we are also unsettled."

"Men are disturbed by the unknown – they always have been," Erasmus replied. "That is why, when faced with the sun or the storm, they assumed both were the work of gods. Fortunately, we have rational explanations for both of those phenomena today. Now, let us be frank. You are talking about a particular sword, which you believe to have magical powers. What do you wish to know about it, Prime Minister?"

"Two simple questions, Erasmus. First, what exactly does it do? And second, is it safe to leave it in Eramond's hands, or should we retain it for ourselves? If it is an instrument of great power, we would not want it in a young officer's hands – it could either be lost to the enemy, or it could tempt him."

"I happen to have met the lad in question," Erasmus said. "He did my town a good turn, and I don't think he's the kind to let power go to his head in general. However, in this case, I believe you do have cause for concern. Give me the sword, Cornelius."

Fairfax handed him the weapon. In the setting sun, it looked like any other sword. He weighed it carefully in his hands, studied the blade with a lens, and then took a small device out of his pocket.

"A loan from the School of Proper Thought," he explained. Running it over the blade, he examined its dials carefully, and noted down figures on a notepad that he was carrying. At the end of his examination, he sat down, and looked grave.

"Gentlemen, I believe in the truth," he said, "and in this case, the truth is slightly awkward. Do not dismiss what I have to say because I am Richard Erasmus' son. Though my father and I were quite different persons, we both had a passion for the truth, and if I quote him to support me, do not dismiss me."

"Covering your bases, aren't you?"General Freeman said sharply. "Get on with it, Erasmus."

"As you please, Your Lordship," Erasmus replied calmly. "First, the blade is an alloy of Quarium, Suffite and Kibor. While Quarium is mined in Galvenia, the other two can be found only in Zion. Second, the sword is ancient – its design, and the condition of the blade, both testify to this. Third, if dozens of historical documents are correct, this is a Journeyman's sword."

"That's an interesting theory, Erasmus," Sir Prescott said. "Do you have any proof of it?"

"The composition of the blade is similar to that attested to in all reliable histories of the Journeymen, including my father's, Aramondrius' book, and Nealus Hessen's memoirs. Moreover, the craftsmanship is similar to swords crafted by the Order during this time." He took a book out from his briefcase, flipped it open to a bookmark, and showed them various illustrations, all of which closely resembled Ryan's sword.

"I must say, the resemblance is quite striking," Sheffield said. "How did a renegade like Schenk stumble upon a treasure like this?"

"If we go by Aramondrius' history, Schenk was the original surname of Kaleb the Journeyman," Erasmus replied. "Your agent must be a descendant – or at least a distant relative – of the Journeymen, and the sword must be an heirloom."

"Hmph," General Freeman snorted. "Pretty talk, indeed! Journeymen, heirlooms – bah! As if commoners have heirlooms. Tell us what we must do with it, Erasmus, and stop beating around the bush."

"A magical sword, my lord," Erasmus replied, unruffled, "can be wielded only by someone who possesses the gift of magic – either overtly or latently. Your friend Eramond probably had a mage ancestor somewhere along the line – which is not far-fetched, considering that not too long ago, Albrut and his breakaway faction of Journeymen settled in Galvenia and joined the army. Somewhere in his genetic code, the tendency lies dormant."

"Is that bad?" Sir Prescott asked, looking at the Mayor with approval.

"Not necessarily, Sir Prescott," Colin Erasmus replied. "If anything, you ought to investigate this Jason Schenk, who hands over a priceless sword to a perfect stranger without any obvious reason. If you want my advice – and you're a soldier, so you'll take it – give that young man back the sword, and use him in any mission where you suspect the Zion are using magic. Even if he possesses the 'gift' only in small measure, with a weapon of this sort, he is more than a match for a troop of Zionese hedge wizards." He laughed.

"Hedge wizards?" Lord Freeman said, puzzled.

"Men with weak magical powers, often of low birth and dubious background," Fairfax explained. "It's a common insult in historical plays, but that's the actual meaning."

"I do not have time for such frivolous diversions," Freeman said virtuously.

"If that is all, gentlemen," Erasmus said, "I thank you, but I must go now. I have a speaking engagement at the School of Proper Thought."

"Yes, that will be all, Colin," Prime Minister Sheffield replied, shaking hands with him. "Thank you. We shall do as you say."

"I agree," Sir Prescott says. "After all, when our enemies are using magic, a little counter-offensive cannot hurt."

Colin Erasmus left the room, and walked slowly and purposefully towards the School. As he entered the vestibule, he was met by a man with a large smile.

"Well met, Erasmus," Jason Schenk – or Jason Lugner, to give him his other name – said. "How did the meeting go?"

"I have told them the truth in part, and advised them to let Eramond keep the weapon," he replied. "They seemed quite satisfied."

"Excellent!" Jason clapped his hands. "And did you ask them to investigate me?"

"Indeed, I did. I suspect Fairfax might take you up on that, but at any rate, it was what you asked me to say. How are things in Issachar?"

"Ugly," Jason Lugner replied. "That paper Pontiff is firing off ecclesiastical penalties right and left, presumably egged on by Hunermann. There are not a few who are still loyal to Pious XXI, but they're kept silent by force of arms."

"And Charlemagne?"

"The man remains a mystery. After his public appearance to appoint Maximillian – the poor man looks like a nervous wreck, from all I've heard – he has once again withdrawn from the public eye, though the Council of Viceroys keeps claiming that he is getting better. We can neither confirm nor refute what we suspected at this moment. Instead, we are going to try a little misinformation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Mother Anna is now in Galvenia, and that consequently, we can try a certain line to unsettle the good souls of our Zionese neighbours."

"Be careful, Jason," Erasmus said. "I know you and Jacob enjoy playing with fire, but at a time like this, you need to be careful."

"Careful?" Jason laughed and shook hands with the Mayor. "Oh, I'll be careful all right. Right now, the one in the firing line is Eramond, and I don't envy him."

"Very well, but – Is it true about him and the Princess?"

"Only emotionally and spiritually, Erasmus," Jason said, with a disapproving noise. "Very Itarian. You Mayors have such dirty minds."

"You're a laugh riot, Jason," Erasmus said, as the two men bid each other goodbye. "Take care."

xxx

"Darington will soon fall," Sir Prescott observed, after he had dismissed Ryan and his men for the night. "It worries me."

"Why, Sir Prescott?" Captain Rawley enquired. "We've been at it for months now. They realize that the winter is coming soon, and that they cannot hold this position forever."

"That's not it, Rawley," he replied. "As a soldier, one sometimes acquires a sixth sense about the enemy – an impression that is based on intuition and experience rather than hard intelligence. Of course, winter will soon be upon us. And the fact that the Zion Empire is starting to face internal dissent – thanks to their folly in installing a counterfeit Pontiff – means that even their armed forces are likely to break ranks in a crisis. Yet, I am not happy, Rawley. It is almost as if they had deliberately overextended themselves."

"To what end?" Rawley said, shaking his head. "The Zion are no fools, but anyone keeping track of the past one and a half years would doubt that. Their recent victories in the Directorate are fortuitous, and the result of disease."

"Maximillian I, to give him his current name, would probably call that an act of God," Sir Prescott said mockingly. "I wish I knew what was going on in the head of Viceroy Hunermann – or, assuming he is conscious, of Charlemagne."

"At any rate, we will launch a further raid on the eastern wall of the town tomorrow, using the rookies at Victoria as a support," Rawley replied. "We are wearing them down slowly but surely."

"Indeed, we are," Sir Prescott said. "And if the Zion mages bother us, we now have Kibor shields to protect us, thanks to Sigmund Regale. International trade is a wonderful thing. Well, enjoy your rest while you can – we have to rise early tomorrow, Rawley. Good night."

"Good night, Sir Prescott," Captain Rawley replied, as he saluted and left his commander's tent.

Sitting down on the edge of his cot, Sir Prescott allowed himself to smile.

_If I succeed, even Freeman's word will count as nothing compared to mine. He may be a Lord and a General, but his policy of caution and containment will be rightly execrated once we capture Darington and force the Zion to sue for peace._

_And seriously, what more do they have? Even if they recall all their troops from the Varald, I wish them good luck making the trek to Galvenia in winter – not to forget that the CSF is handing out heavy punishment to them in Itaria. And if they plan to give up Itaria as a bad job and concentrate on us, the draft has taken care of that. I could go down in history as the greatest Commander of the Rough Riders since Lord Chester himself._

He shook his head. _Of course, it's not about my personal glory. This is about Galvenia and her army. After the humiliation of Darington, the Zion deserve every bit of what we're giving them. I must keep an eye on that Eramond, though. He certainly has matured – he's no longer the cocky boy I crossed swords with – but he has a streak of ruthlessness in him, an aggression that is both useful and unnerving. Perhaps he had a Varaldian ancestor. Still, I shouldn't complain – he's a useful man. I remember what it was like to be that age – to be younger, and hungry, waiting for my dreams to come true._

He lay down on his bed and stretched himself out. _And yet, for all my power, for all my ability, can I claim that I have fulfilled all my dreams? That's a rhetorical question – no one can claim that, not even the Pontiff or the King of Galvenia. But some dreams are more valuable than others, and we realize that only with hindsight._

Like many Galvenian noblemen, regardless of what he felt, Sir Prescott's external demeanour was always calm and formal – he prided himself, like his forefathers of the House of Chuselwock, on not readily betraying his emotions. But this night, for some reason, self-control was difficult for him. His face was strangely contorted, and he let out a sigh.

_I never ought to have accepted. I never ought to have let you go._

_Infinity knows I am a brave man. I would have fought for you. I am not a coward. I thought I was safeguarding my career, my position in the Army, and the good name of my family. And I refuse to believe that those things were unimportant. But I was young and easily swayed, and I allowed myself to be talked into – into preserving the status quo. I have done well. Though there are some things I owe to my position, there are many more I owe to my talent, to my innate drive for excellence. I am proud to be the Knight Commander of the Rough Riders. I would not give it up for the world._

_But there are times – and tonight is such a time – when I feel I could have given it up – ought to have given it up – for you._

_Prudence? Cowardice? Perhaps only God can judge me. All I know tonight is that I am alone despite my victories, solitary despite my successes. And if I am so, it is by my own choice. I could have had something precious, and now, it is lost - perhaps forever._

_I only hope that, come what may, you will be happy. I do not have the right to ask for more. Even I, with my pride and position, can expect no more._

He closed his eyes. Visions of a young, sorrowful face looking at him reproachfully still remained, until he fell into a troubled sleep.

xxx

"Good morning, Major-General," Premier Josen of the Republic said, looking at the Varaldian envoy speculatively. "It is a long time since we have met. Please take a seat. If you would enjoy a cup of our very own Republican tea, I would be glad to offer you some." He sipped at his own cup.

"Indeed, it has been over a year, Premier," Andrei Gerhardt observed, sitting down and leaning forward. "And I am afraid you have been remiss in honouring the terms of our agreement."

"In what way?" Josen asked, surprised.

"First, you promised us access to the mines at Inderness, to obtain your well-concealed reserves of Kibor. With the Zion dogs using magical weapons in battle, Kibor shields are our best hope. Instead, you played us off against the Galvenians."

"I did no such thing, Major-General," Josen said austerely. "All I told you is that your companies were free to trade with those of our miners who still dared to venture there, especially once the Commonwealth forces were withdrawn by President Hipper. It is not my fault if those miners have more than one trading partner. Remember, in our country, free trade is a cherished ideal. The concept of a Premier regulating the activities of every corporation in every town of Fulton is an absurdity for us, though it may be a reality for you. Besides, Sigmund Regale has been a good friend of ours for a decade, and his investments are always welcome."

"Is that so?" Gerhardt said hotly. "Why not admit the truth – that you sold your precious Kibor to the highest bidder, and seriously crippled our efforts in the process."

"Business is business, my dear Major-General," Josen replied. "You have not studied economics, and you fail to see that competition in a market is crucial for economic growth."

"Economic growth be damned," Gerhadt retorted. "Do you not see that if we lose this war, the Zion could soon be on your doorstep? Their actions all over Terra show that that filthy swine, Hunermann, will stop at nothing; it is a simple accident of geography that has spared you so far. It is in your interests to collaborate with us."

"And violate the unwritten code of conduct that we all live by, Major –General?" Josen frowned. "I am neither a hero nor a soldier, but even I would refuse to do that."

Gerhardt glared at him. "Very well, let us move on to the second point. You are aware of the disease that is ravaging our country, and that is now lapping at your heels. What can you tell me about it?"

Josen smiled. "If some of your sailors are dallying with some of the girls on our borders, and exporting this famous plague, then I must be the one to censure you, Major-General."

"Do not jest with me," Gerhardt said testily. "Our scientists, including Professor Kuzhnetsoff at the Zhemu Institute of Sciences, have isolated the germ responsible, and find that it closely resembles one from your own country. What do you say to that, my dear Josen?"

Josen shook his head. "Are you accusing me of spreading a disease in your country? Surely, if that were true, it would have struck you near our border, not near your frontier with the Zion. Besides, though our scientists are among the best on Terra, we are not a warlike people, Major-General. If that is your idea, please disillusion yourself."

"I am warning you, Premier," Gerhardt said, rising from his seat, "that you cannot toy with us for too long. I know that you are beginning to break our ancient trade agreements, in pursuit of dollars from the international corporations in Zion and Galvenia. But be assured that you cannot mock us endlessly. If you do not attend to these two issues, Premier, then we will be forced to do with you as we did with the Zion."

"Threats, my dear Major-General?" Josen said sharply. "You disappoint me. I thought we could discuss this like civilized men."

"I am warning, not threatening," Gerhardt replied. "Stop giving your Kibor to the Galvenians. Collaborate with our scientists in defeating this disease. If you fail to do so, remember that unlike you, we Varald are a warlike people."

"As you wish," Josen said, sighing and closing his eyes. "Good day to you, Major-General."

Annoyed by the Premier's unruffled manner, Gerhardt stormed out of the room. Tariq Khan, who had witnessed this entire scene without saying a word, raised his eyebrows.

"They can't do it, of course," he said. "They're weaker than they want to let on, and they are desperate for remedies. My friends have kept me well informed."

"You mean that man Lugner," Josen said, with a laugh. "I could tell from his bluster that he was on shaky ground, but I didn't quite want to call his bluff yet. Should we have some additional Divisions guard the border, just in case?"

"It would be a useful form of prophylaxis," Tariq replied. "But mark my words, interesting things are going to happen here as well. Our scientists need to study that plague in earnest."

xxx

"I guess this is goodbye for now," Henrik said slowly, adjusting the cap on his head. His uniform felt stiff and uncomfortable, but he could not help feeling a little proud at wearing it, though it was an unbecoming shade of orange.

"Good luck, Spenson," Noah Ibrahim said, as they shook hands. "I don't have a dog in this fight, but you've always seemed like a 'good guy' to me, to borrow your own phrase. I hope you return safely."

"Can't say, old chap," Henrik replied. "Given that the Zion are bringing men back from the Varald border, and that winter will set in soon, we could be in for a long fight."

"You could have obtained a deferment, couldn't you?" Noah enquired. "Many of the boys opted to do so."

"I know," Henrik said, "but the way this is going, we'll all have to go sooner or later – or so I think. Mark my words, there's a method in the Zion's madness. This war could easily undo several centuries of understanding between our nations, and that makes me sad. But if we need to defeat them to make them back down, I have to help out."

"I understand," Noah said. "And look at it this way: when your children ask you what you did in the war, you can answer them with pride – unlike, say, that imbecile of a Galt. The way he goes around grinning and pontificating about the evils of war is enough to turn even me, a man of Fulton, into a militarist."

"Thanks, Noah. I don't know when I'll see you again, but take care."

"You too, Spenson," Noah replied, as they shook hands once more. Henrik, picking up his haversack, began to head for the gates of King's College.

_Completing basic training wasn't that hard, thanks to Colonel Whitworth_, he thought. _Good thing I had to come back to college to finish with the paperwork – they'll let me come back and complete my course when it's all over. I wonder what he'd say about this war! _

_Heck, Ryan and I might even team up again. He's quite the veteran now; his mother said he'd been promoted to Lieutenant, and would soon make Captain. I'm going to miss it all: Davenport, King's College, our teachers, Noah, Viola – heck, even Father. It's a pity she's attending a lecture; it would have been nice to say goodbye in person, though I did leave her a note at her room._

As he drew near the gate, he saw her. In her gray cloak, she seemed as if she was dressed in mourning.

"Good morning, Henrik," Viola said, lowering her hood. "Goodness, it's cold out here."

"Tell that to the Marines – or to the soldier, since you have one here," Henrik replied, with a laugh. "It's nice to see you, Viola. But don't you have a class right now?"

"I was waiting for you," she said simply. "I know it sounds silly, but – I remember the last time I saw Daddy. I was thirteen. I was sitting near the gate of our home, looking at my Memory Crystal, and he was coming out in his uniform, carrying his bag – just like you were."

Henrik nodded, but said nothing.

"He told me that he was going far away, but that he'd always carry me with him, in here." She tapped her breast. "He said he knew that I'd do the same, too, and no matter how far away he was, he would always be my father, and I his child."

Strangely moved, Henrik stepped closer to her. "And he is, isn't he?" he said softly. "I know what you mean. Mother said something very similar when – when she knew she wasn't going to recover, and wanted to let me know. I guess parents are like that."

"Indeed," Viola said, smiling at him. He held out his hand, and she took it. "So where will you be headed now?"

"Not too far away, don't worry," Henrik said with a laugh. "We're all assembling at the Military Academy, and from there, we'll travel to Checkpoint Alpha, from where Captain Rawley of the Rough Riders will brief us. The furthest we can possibly go right now is Darington."

"That's sort of reassuring," Viola replied. "Henrik…."

"What is it?" he said, sensing her hesitation.

"Henrik, stay safe, all right? When I came here, I was lonely – it was the first time I'd ever been away from home. You and Noah and Ivan helped me – and it was thanks to all of you that I stayed on here and made more friends. I owe you three a lot – especially you, Henrik."

Henrik flushed. "Hey, what are friends for, anyway?" he replied. "And don't worry, Colonel Whitworth's boys don't get knocked out that easily. I'm – going to miss you too, Viola. Life's always pleasant when you're around."

"Hmm, is that supposed to be some sort of compliment, Henrik?" Viola said teasingly, as he flushed again. "But I'm flattered all the same. Just…I mean, we've known each other for a year now. We've shared all sorts of things, even frightening ones. I feel I know you well…."

"So do I," Henrik replied. "We've certainly had our adventures together, and you've always been a good friend, even when danger was involved. I know it'll be hard for you to watch us all go to war, but hopefully, it won't last too long."

"I hope so too," Viola replied. "I hope we'll meet again then, without this cloud of war hanging over our heads. Good luck, Henrik, and may the Infinity protect you."

"Thank you, Viola," Henrik said.

"It's just that…" she went on, and her voice faltered. "Just like Daddy…." She shook her head, and tried to smile again. Henrik, stricken, was seized with a sudden urge to hold him to her, to reassure her that he would return, that he would not die in combat.

And that is what he did.

"Henrik," she said softly, as he patted her on the back. "Thank you, Henrik…"

He smiled at her, then pulled away, embarrassed. But she did not seem to be offended; rather, she was smiling at him gratefully.

"Till we meet again, Viola," he said, as they shook hands. "Stay safe too. I would hate it if anything happened to you."

"I'll be all right," she said, waving goodbye as he disappeared down the road that led back to the city – to the Military Academy – and to the war. A wind blew at her heels, and she shook her head impatiently, then clasped her hands together. "I'll be all right."

xxx

"Thank God we're getting reinforcements," Colonel Stein – now promoted after a year in the Itarian campaign – observed with satisfaction, as he surveyed the troops assembled outside the walls of the city. "This has gone on long enough, what with losing Itaria City, then recapturing it. If the CSF forces from the Varald and the Republic join us as scheduled, this winter will be the last one we'll spend in Itaria."

"And not too soon, Colonel," Major Fareed, his second-in-command, observed. "We've successfully secured the coast, thanks to the Galvenians loaning us ships that could withstand those devilish projectiles. If we can recapture the city and send some of our men across the hills to join the ships landing on the opposite coast, then we can recapture the hinterland. But what happens once we're done?"

"Good question," Stein replied. "The Zion have followed a scorched earth policy quite ruthlessly – even when it was apparent that they were outnumbered, they devastated whatever the good people of this country had. Reconstruction is going to be long and arduous, and our victory means little unless we can assist them with it."

"We certainly will, Colonel," Rear Admiral Radulov, who would be commanding the second wave of attacks along with the Commonwealth's marine troops, replied. "But we need to get this over with."

"What of the Pontiff?" Fareed asked. "We have been informing him of developments here, but he is still wracked with guilt at abandoning his post – yet he says that it was necessary for him to do so."

"Of course it was," Radulov scoffed. Though a loyal member of the Commonwealth forces, he was a Varaldian, and religion was anathema to him. "Let's face it, the Pontiff is not just a priest in funny clothes: he is the Head of the State of Itaria. If he were to die, what would stop the Zion from imposing Maximillian I – or Eduard Gruner, to give him his real name – as his replacement? He is not a soldier, and he is worth more alive than dead."

"Still, he will have an uphill task, though he is doing well with his radio broadcasts to his people. He certainly does not pull any moral punches. And the people, despite the devastation wrought by the Zion, are still hopeful. It is enough to make one wonder," Stein mused, "if there is, indeed, something to this Itarian religion."

"Very funny, Colonel Stein," Radulov said sarcastically. "We're not going to win this war through religious means. Come, let us prepare ourselves, for tonight may mean life or death for the people of this country."

xxx

As autumn slowly slipped away, news of the recapture of Itaria by the Commonwealth spread throughout Terra. The Pontiff, in a series of radio broadcasts to his beleaguered people, encouraged them to stay calm, to forgive, and to cooperate with the CSF forces in the long reconstruction that would have to follow.

In the meantime, racked by a plague that had now reached their capital itself, the Varald had slowly been forced against a wall. Rumours of a cease-fire were imminent, as were rumours of secret negotiations between Zion and Varald ambassadors to allow the latter an honourable defeat. However, these rumours were soon put to rest by the second public appearance of Emperor Charlemagne. This time, the amelioration of his mysterious illness was evident even to the most jaundiced eye: he walked without support, managed to smile at the adoring crowds, and delivered a slightly longer speech, asking his people to support the war effort with all their might. He condemned Pontiff Pious XXI's illegitimate "rule in exile", and warned that his ships would block any attempt on his part to return to Itaria. He urged the Itarian people to be loyal to the true Pontiff, and asked the Galvenians to surrender before they, too, suffered the fate of the Varald. The people cheered, while those who knew better could not help but applaud Hunermann's daring.

However, there was to be no easy victory for the Council, or for its apparent figurehead – the Emperor. The Varald began to fight even more fiercely – suicidally, truth be told – in an attempt to take down as many of their loathed Imperial enemies as possible. Disturbing rumours began to circulate throughout Zion, warning that the Pontiff would release the true text of the Secret Prophecy of Geraud, and crush Maximillian and Hunermann with one blow. And there still was Galvenia to contend with.

The siege of Darington had finally led to a breach in the eastern city wall. While the bulk of the Galvenian forces stormed the city, their rearguard was attacked by Zion troops emerging from the southwest, near the towns of Issachar and Hayako behind Darington. Reacting quickly, the Galvenian rear had regrouped near the Citadel of Derren, their nearest base, where they were supported by the new conscripts, trapping the Zion ambush between two divisions. After a pitched battle, the latter were forced to retreat, though the men at the Citadel suffered significant losses.

In the meantime, Darington itself was hotly contested, and the Zion embarked upon a desperate measure, setting fire to houses and farms. However, following a quick deliberation between Lieutenant Eramond and his superior officer, Captain Rawley, it was decided to fight fire with fire.

"It's dangerous, Eramond," Rawley warned. "But it's our only chance."

"The fires will confuse the enemy as much as us," Ryan replied. "If we head directly for the arms depot and the Viceroy's residence and capture them both, they will lose the will to fight."

This was easier said than done, as both those locations were strongly defended, but the Assault Corps continued to charge forward. Finally, dodging swords and fire from almost every direction, they launched grenades and shells at the ammunition depot, then set fire to its walls. The explosion that followed deafened several members of the troop, but they proceeded – decimated, but still fighting – to the Viceroy's house, overpowered his shocked guards, and captured Viceroy Frederikson of Darington, bringing him and his retinue to the Citadel of Derren as prisoners of war. The Galvenians had won their victory at a heavy cost – Ryan himself was seriously injured, and was on his way back to the military hospital at Alton even as the Galvenian flag flew over Darington for the first time in thirteen years. But their position, barring a miracle or an act of God, was now nearly impregnable; if they could now capture either Issachar or Hayako, a Zionese surrender would be imminent. However, as any Galvenian who had studied the War of Independence knew, it was dangerous to dismiss an adversary as dangerous as the Zion, even with such an advantage.

The long winter was close at hand.

xxx


	15. Chapter 14: Choices

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**  
_**Choices**_

**ROBERTSON, MARIANNE **_**(C.Y. 282 –) **__Galvenian politician. Born at Davenport, she was the daughter of a business agent, Alexander Robertson, who worked for several major corporations, most notably Regale Enterprises (q.v.)…._

_Running on a platform of free trade, tourism and wider assistance to the disadvantaged, Ms. Robertson's policies were widely seen as a breath of fresh air after nearly thirty years of unbroken Conservative rule. She was Mayor of Davenport from 331 to 339, running on the Welfare Centrist ticket, and then won election to Galvenia's Lower House in the mid-term election of 340. Often working in collaboration with the more enlightened policies of King Derren (q.v.), she has – not unfairly – been credited with bringing a more compassionate face to the country's Government, and with providing an acceptable alternative to the Pragmatic Conservatives after the fall of Socius' Liberal Unionist party. Davenport's first orphanage (cf. CHILD WELFARE IN GALVENIA) was opened under her supervision and mentorship…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"I'm sorry, Miss," the guard at the door said. "No visitors allowed at the moment, not even parents."

"But why?" Lavie asked, shaking her head.

"Last night, two intruders broke into the hospital and stunned the guards. We have no idea what they wanted – they didn't harm any of the men, or steal any supplies. The only thing that went missing was an old ledger of patients, but we're not taking any chances. Besides" – the guard looked at her suspiciously – "what's in that case you're carrying?"

"A sword," Lavie explained. "Please, I have to see him. It's terribly important."

"I'm sorry, Miss Regale, but we're not even allowing the King or the Queen in at this point. Only parents, spouses and grown children are allowed in, and only with valid identification from the mayor of their town. Besides" – he sighed – "it's late. Many of the men will be medicated and asleep already."

"But you don't understand," Lavie pleaded. "I…."

"Trouble, Hugh?" The voice was soft and friendly, but it held an unmistakeable note of command in it.

"Girl here wants to see one of the officers," the guard named Hugh grumbled. "Look, Captain, could you explain it to her? I have work to do."

"Lieutenant Reckland!" Lavie exclaimed. He was in his uniform, but without his helmet, revealing a mass of rather untidy fair hair. "Please, Lieutenant, could you help me?"

"I'm afraid I've been promoted to Captain, Miss Regale," John Reckland replied. "Fortunes of war, and all that. Whom do you want to see?"

"Ryan – I mean Lieutenant Eramond," Lavie said, correcting herself. "I rushed here as soon as I heard he was hurt…"

"Alone?" Reckland looked at her with concern. "I'll take care of this, Hugh."

The guard, grateful to be relieved of what was becoming a difficult situation, moved on – presumably to less challenging work.

"Now, Miss Regale, tell me what this is about. Only, be honest. I can see that you need to see him for reasons beyond mere sentimentality, but I need you to tell me what they are. I promise I'll help you. Come, let us discuss this in private." He led her to an empty office, and she sat down.

"Thank you, Captain Reckland," Lavie said, in a tremulous voice. "It's such a strange story, and I don't know if you'll believe me, but I know I can trust you…"

And, without waiting for his reply, she told him what David and Qasim and told her, and about the sword she was carrying. "And now that he's wounded, and the war is, er, getting worse, I feel he should have it, Captain," she concluded. "I feel it may be – important. I don't know, but I just feel it…"

"Sometimes our intuitions are good guides, Miss Regale," Reckland replied. "Now, I happen to have met Eramond yesterday – I saw him while calling in on a friend of mine – and while he needs to rest a while, he's not in danger. He's broken several ribs, has sword injuries to his face and arms, and took a bullet in one leg, but the lad is made of solid stuff."

"Thank God," Lavie replied, closing her eyes.

"Indeed. Now, if you truly want to see him, I suggest you wait here a little while in my office, until the doctors finish their rounds. I'll take you in, but the rest is up to you. But tell me – do your parents know that you're here?"

"Mom does," Lavie replied. "Daddy's at Lorean most of the time, and when he comes back, he's – tired. I'm afraid for him, Captain Reckland. I feel he's….slipping back into his old ways, and yet, neither Mom nor I have the heart to blame him, though I get mad at him sometimes!"

"Don't worry, Miss Regale," Reckland said kindly. "As long as I'm here in Galvenia – and right now, they've reassigned many of us to the regular army on a temporary basis, until any naval engagements come up – you can always reach me either here or at Davenport, where I'm helping Second Lieutenant Huntington with recruitment."

"That's nice of you, Captain," Lavie said, smiling back. "I guess I'll just wait for some time."

xxx

At this very moment, an encounter of a different kind was taking place at the Friary of the Sons of Saint Nealus.

"The choice is yours, Your Holiness," Prime Minister Sheffield said. "The issue has not yet come up at the Commonwealth, but it is only a matter of time before the Zion use it as a propaganda weapon. Archbishop Mazarus has been in communication with me. He feels that you should remain here, but will defer to your judgment."

"It is a difficult decision," Pontiff Pious replied. "On the one hand, my people need me. On the other hand, there are reasons – both political and prophetic – for me to remain here."

"Prophetic?" Sheffield enquired, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"

"Time will reveal all things, Prime Minister," Pious replied, shaking his head. "The worst thing one can do to a prophecy is unveil it at the wrong time. That is what the Zion have done, and that is why Terra is in turmoil now. The words of God are not bullets to be fired at an enemy of one's convenience."

"Noble words," Sir Cornelius Fairfax replied, "but we must have a decision, Your Holiness. If you wish to return to Itaria, you will be accompanied by a fleet of our ships for protection. If you wish to remain, Queen Katarina has informed me that you will be under her personal protection, and will be offered a home at Lorean Castle. We must reach at least a tentative decision on this, so that we are not caught unawares by a Zion or Commonwealth ultimatum, and can prepare ourselves."

"Please thank the Queen on my behalf, Sir Cornelius," the Pontiff replied, "and assure her, and the entire Royal House of Galvenia, of my blessings. I have also been in communication with Mazarus, and this is the plan I have decided upon. I will remain in Galvenia during the winter, until certain things – you will soon see what I mean – have taken place. Once these events have come to pass, there is no reason for me to remain here. Do not worry about my being an importunate guest; I will remain with you only a little longer."

Sheffield, pleased by this answer, extended his hand to the Pontiff. "You have chosen wisely, Your Holiness. I will inform the Queen of your answer, and you will be escorted there by soldiers of the Galvenian Army."

"Is that really necessary, Prime Minister?" Pious XXI replied with a smile.

"A simple precaution, Your Holiness," said Sir Cornelius. "Your escort will be ready by tomorrow morning."

"There is, of course, one condition," Pious XXI said, folding his hands together. "If I go, I wish to extend my protection to one more person. Mother Anna must come with me."

"Mother Anna?" Fairfax frowned, then relaxed. "Oh, yes, the nun from Issachar whom we rescued from an impending Zion assassination…"

"Fairfax!" Sheffield exclaimed. "Surely we have no proof of that."

"I'm afraid that we do, thanks to Lolek's decryption of that magazine," Fairfax replied, and Pious XXI nodded. "That was part of their plan, as was the attempt to obtain minerals from Mount Lorea Mine. Fortunately, we foiled them on both counts."

"But what does it all mean?" Sheffield wondered.

"I am afraid that I can only repeat my first answer, Prime Minister – time will tell," Pious replied. "In the meantime, I thank you, gentlemen, and I assure you of my prayers."

xxx

Ryan woke up with a start, with an uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Had he been captured? No, that was long ago – before the war even began. Was he a prisoner of war? He looked around, but the room was darkened. Trying to sit up, he was conscious of a pain in his right side.

_Now I remember. The battle – I wish I could remember more. The flag flew over the Mayor's house…._

"Ryan?"

In the darkness, he could not see her fully. She was a shadow – a ghostly figure with long hair and dark eyes.

"Ryan, are you all right?"

_That voice – no, it can't be_…

"Lavie?" The word was more a challenge – or even an accusation – than a question. "Lavie, what the hell are you doing here?"

Lavie – if it was her – sniffed. "You could try being a little more grateful, Mr. Eramond, considering that I came alone all the way from Davenport to see you!"

Ryan sighed. "Please, Lavie. I'm trying to recover and get back to the Army as soon as possible. I could do without another of our not-so-friendly arguments."

Lavie choked down the angry retort that was on her lips, and tried to smile. "I'm sorry, Ryan," she said. "But as soon as I heard that you were in the hospital, I felt I just had to come. Maybe I was stupid to do so, but…"

Ryan shook his head impatiently. "That's not what I meant, Lavie," he said, a little more gently. "In fact, I ought to thank you for being here in the first place. How you did it is a mystery; even Mum and Dad have a hard time getting in."

"Captain Reckland helped me," Lavie admitted, grateful that the darkness hid her blush. "And – er – you're welcome. How….how are you doing, Ryan? Does it…does it hurt?"

"Of course it does," Ryan snapped, but corrected himself as he noticed Lavie's hurt expression. "Look, Lavie, people get hurt during a war. I'm alive, and I'm getting better. Don't be afraid. Sure, it's a lot worse than that Crocogator, but it's not _too_ bad."

"I'm glad to hear that," Lavie said, rubbing one eye. "Ryan – I know you're in pain, and tired, but can I tell you something?"

Ryan scowled. "Lavie, I don't really have the time for…."

"Please, Ryan," she said, and her attitude was one of supplication rather than anger. "Listen to me."

"All right," Ryan said, in clipped tones, "but let me tell you something first. If this is about Marianne, or about – us, I don't think I want to discuss that topic right now. I'm glad to see – a friend in hospital, but let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"That's not it, Ryan," Lavie replied, shaking her head. "Ryan – when I was in the Republic, I received a legacy from my grandmother. It was a diary, written by my grandfather."

Ryan's eyes widened. He had expected many things from Lavie – tears, anger, recriminations, confessions – but not this. Memories of a certain conversation, which seemed to belong to the distant past, came back to him, and like Lavie, he was grateful that the darkness hid his embarrassment. "A diary?" he asked, after a pause. "You came all this way to tell me about a diary?"

Slowly and hesitantly, Lavie told him what she had learned from old Qasim and from her uncle David, except for the last exchange she had with Qasim. He listened with growing consternation, but said nothing.

"And I felt you should know, Ryan," she concluded, opening the case that lay at his bedside, and taking the sword out. "According to Mr. Qasim, this sword belongs to you."

"Well – this is pretty heavy stuff, Lavie," Ryan said, trying to make light of it. "But what proof do we have of this story, except a few jottings in your grandpa's diary?"

Patiently, Lavie began to explain, and Ryan listened, shaking his head.

"It's strange, and yet –" He stopped, remembering what Agent Schenk had told him. "You're not the first person to tell me this, Lavie. When the first person told me, I didn't want to believe. But now, I guess I'm forced to – much against my better judgment."

"Do you really have magical abilities, Ryan?" Lavie said, an expression of awe on her face.

"I don't know," Ryan said honestly. "A few strange things have happened to me, but I'm still skeptical. Even so…" He shook his head again. "Thanks for the sword, Lavie. I'll put it to good use, as I've done with Grandpa's."

"There's one more thing, Ryan," Lavie said, lowering her head. "I'm not asking for anything in return, but I want you to know this: I believe in you, Ryan. I believe that you'll come out of this war safely, and that you'll be at Davenport with us all again. We all miss you. I know _I_ do. And if at any time, you need some support, or just want to talk things over, I'm there, Ryan. I'm always there."

Ryan smiled, then shook his head. "That's very kind of you, Lavie, and who knows? Perhaps some day, I may have to take you up on that. But I don't think I can promise anything more. I'm sorry."

"Because of the war?"

"No, not just the war," Ryan began, then fell silent.

"Then," Lavie asked nervously, "is it….someone else? Marianne?"

Ryan flushed, but with the quick thinking that months of battle experience had honed, replied almost immediately. "No, it's not that, Lavie. It's not that at all. It's just that – remember that night at Glendale, Lavie? Remember what I said? People change. I changed, you changed. And it's worse now."

"What do you mean?" Another question hovered on her lips, but she dared not ask it.

"I've seen things, done things, that have changed me – perhaps for all time, Lavie," Ryan replied regretfully. "And the world has changed too. I'm no longer the kid you gave a Davenport Beach T-shirt to on my birthday. Like that old shirt, our old world is gone – eaten by moths. We live in a world of moths and vermin now, Lavie, and there are too few of us out there, trying to exterminate them. That's what I have to do. I'll use this sword, or anything else, to achieve that goal – and I thank you for that. But things are different now, Lavie. You need to understand that."

There were many things that Lavie wanted to say in response, but she merely nodded, and held out her hand. "All right, Ryan. I guess – I'll try to understand, even if I never actually will. And I wish you good luck. No matter what happens, I'll always think well of you. Think of me as a friend, too."

Ryan took her hand, held it briefly, then let go of it. "Thanks, Lavie," he said. "Now, I guess I'd better get back to sleep, and you'd better be on your way home. Good night, and take care."

"Good night, Ryan," Lavie said quietly, as she rose and left. Ryan watched her leave, not without a pang, but his resolve did not waver.

_Something precious,_ he thought. _Yes, Lavie. If we wish to be free at peace, we all have to give up something precious – perhaps give it up forever. I hope you understand. I'm sorry. That's all I can say._

_xxx_

Later that night, Lavie lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Captain Reckland had helped her check into the inn at Alton, and she would return home the next day.

_Try to understand – that's what Ryan said. But I'll never understand. I'll never understand!_

_Even if things have changed – I haven't changed. And even if he's a different person, I still…_

There was a knock at her window, and she let out a little cry. Standing near the windowpane, his face eerie in the moonlight, was a hooded man. He wore a mask, and carried a sword.

Before she could react, the window swung away from its hinges.

"Do not raise the alarm, Miss Regale," the man said in a hoarse, low voice. "I am here to help you."

"Who are you?" Lavie whispered.

"A friend," he replied. "My name is unimportant, but I am an auxiliary of the Galvenian Covert Operations Service. I was sent by my superiors to warn you."

"Warn me? Of what?" Lavie replied, puzzled.

"Of your friend Ryan Eramond," he replied. "He currently has an unblemished record, but he is being led astray. That would be a pity, because he has served the Army well, and his defection would be a huge blow to our country, and a moral victory for the Zion. Fortunately, it need not take place."

"Ryan, a betrayer? I'll never believe it!" Lavie said passionately.

"Not a traitor, Miss Regale," the man said calmly. "A tool of forces within Galvenia who are manipulating us, and who want power rather than . Think of the way your father was arrested as a convenient scapegoat. He is being used in the same way. He will soon be induced, by seemingly innocent means, to compromise himself and join hands with them. Perhaps you already sense signs of this – he may have told you that he has changed, or that he serves a different master. If you want to, you can help us prevent a scandal. It is your choice."

"I don't know who you are," Lavie said softly, "but I'd do anything to help Ryan. Tell me what I must do."

"I'm afraid my superiors will tell you that, Miss Regale; my orders were simply to make contact. If you wish to learn more, please meet them at Clarissa Crenshaw's souvenir shop at Davenport two days from now, at any time between three and five in the evening."

"I'll be there," Lavie said. "You can count on me."

The man closed the window and disappeared into a clump of bushes, while Lavie – wearied by sadness and shock – fell asleep. Discarding his mask along the highway, Makarov Juno continued to walk steadily and silently along the path leading back to Davenport. Jason Lugner had instructed him to return as early as he could, and he was eager to do so. His current mission did not merely satisfy his innate craving for justice – it spoke to his two deepest needs: affection and vengeance.

He was entering his hometown through the woods when the shot struck him. He felt the bullet enter his shoulder, but before he could even react to the searing pain, or to the sound of the gun, he felt himself being hurled against a nearby tree, unable to move or see.

It would be several hours before he woke again.

xxx

_It's so peaceful here. Of course, there are memories. There always will be. But with time, they fade away. Everything fades – except, perhaps, those moments where I felt that everything would be all right. I have to hold on to them._

_And it's quiet out in the woods. I know Father doesn't like me to stay away from home too long, after what happened, but I like it out here. It was a good idea to cut back on my job – we don't really need the money now, especially after the court settlement. Poor Father, at least he doesn't have to be ruined now._

Marianne stooped down to pick a few flowers and place them in her basket.

_That tree – it's where he carved our names, that evening out in the woods. And now, he's carved it out. Well, I asked for it. I can't even offer an excuse. And I suppose it's a small consolation that he doesn't want Lavie Regale, either. She's a decent sort, even if her family spoils her. I'm sorry, Ryan. I wish you knew how sorry I am…_

_Good heavens!_

She dropped her basket, and looked with horror at the bleeding man who lay curled up near one side of the tree.

_I've got to call for help – but what if he's a bandit or a deserter? _

Gathering up her courage, she looked closer.

_Sweet Infinity! It's Juno. What on Terra is he doing here? Juno was always weird, but Father said that's because he lost his father, and we ought to cut him some slack. I ought to help him._

"Juno," she said timidly, "what happened?"

"Argh," Juno said, propping himself on one arm and shaking his head, then looking around him, perplexed. "Miss Robertson, I presume."

"Are you all right, Juno?"

"It is self-evident," Juno replied sarcastically, "that your question must be answered in the affirmative. But I thank you for your concern. I must somehow obtain medical attention."

"I can help you, if you want," Marianne said shyly. "Father knows a couple of good doctors, here and at Hartridge. But who did this to you?"

"A traitor," Juno said. "Could you kindly do me a favour, Miss Robertson? Fetch a doctor, and send this to my mother." He scribbled on a piece of paper torn from a notebook in his cloak, and handed it to her, breathing hard.

"I'll be right back," Marianne said, taking it from his hands and rushing out of the woods as fast as her legs could carry her.

Juno looked after her, his expression softening for a moment, before lapsing into semi-consciousness once more.

xxx

It was four o'clock, two days later, when Lavie Regale – returning from a session at the Mann Island Archery Academy – stepped into Clarissa Crenshaw's much-mocked souvenir shop.

The room was deserted. Clarissa herself was nowhere to be found, and there was an unnatural stillness around her.

Walking closer, she noted to her horror that Clarissa was bound in a corner, her eyes closed, breathing heavily as if she had been drugged or struck on the head. Two men came out the back room, and before she knew what was happening, two more emerged from behind the cases of curios and barricaded the door.

"What – what on Terra is going on?" Lavie exclaimed.

The first of the men drew a sword and stepped forward. "Do not worry, Miss Regale," he said. "This is simply a necessary precaution. Mrs. Crenshaw has not been harmed, she has simply been stunned. As soon as our meeting is over, we shall revive her."

The second man, younger than the first and with a large grin, placed a large sarcophagus on the floor and opened it.

"What are you doing?" Lavie said nervously. "Who are you?"

"I must say little Juno did his work well," the second man replied, still smiling. "Poor boy, we played him like the patsy that he is – enticed him with promises of meeting you, and more – and he's done his job well. Pity we had to shoot him, but he was becoming a risk. The spider, as an old friend of mine used to say, has caught himself a fly."

"That was Juno?" Lavie was horrified. "But why? What do you want with me?"

"Simply to use you as bait, Miss Lavender Regale. Kin and Kun! Get her!" the first man shouted, and Lavie spun around to see the two men guarding the door – wearing black uniforms and masks – marching slowly and steadily towards her.

Lavie was quick to react. Scraping two arrows against her bangle, she fired and hit the first of the men in the arm, causing him to collapse on the ground, his clothing on fire. Her second arrow went wild, but scraped the second man's headband, setting his mask on fire.

"Confound it, a Fire Elemental!" the second man said, his smile gone. "Shield me, Jacob."

"Not so fast!" The door shattered, and suddenly, there were five men in Galvenian police uniform, accompanied by Captain Reckland, standing behind Lavie.

"Freeze, both of you!" one of the policemen said, drawing his revolver. "Drop those swords and raise your hands, or we'll shoot!"

"Damn it!" the first man said. "Jason, do the honours!"

The second man brandished a strange object from his waist, and Lavie felt a blow strike hard at her breast-bone. She fell to the ground, the breath knocked out of her.

"Miss Regale, no!" Reckland cried out, rushing forward and firing with his own rifle. The first man was struck in the leg, and groaned. He stepped in front of Lavie, shielding her with his own body, and slashed at the second man, who parried the blow.

"Get her out of here!" Reckland shouted. Two of the policemen, reacting quickly, carried Lavie out of the room, while two more handcuffed Kin and Kun and doused the flames that threatened them.

"I must say, the girl is cleverer than that fool Marksmith," Jacob Lugner said between clenched teeth. "But this game has gone on long enough."

"Admit defeat," Reckland said firmly. "I have no idea who you are, but we've got you cold. Attempted abduction, possible espionage, and possessing an illegal weapon. Give up while you still can."

"Oh, that's what you think," the second man replied, his smile returning.

"Jason, _no!_" Jacob cried out.

"Carry on the good fight, my brother," Jason said. One of the policemen, noticing that Jason was raising his weapon again, fired, and Jason began to bleed from his side.

There was a sound of shattering glass, and Jacob Lugner was no longer in the room.

"He's gone," Jason said, defiantly, "and you can't find him now. Admit defeat yourself."

"Surround the building!" Reckland said, noticing that one of the windows had been broken. He moved in and immobilized the injured Jason with a control hold, then dragged him out of the building.

"Look after Mrs. Crenshaw," he told the two policemen who had arrested Kin and Kun. Rushing outside the building, he noted to his dismay that there was no sign of Jacob Lugner – no footprints, no trail in the grass. He was gone.

Rushing back to the front of the building, he knelt down before Lavie.

"Miss Regale," he said anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all choked up," she said, with a weak smile, "but, all things considered, I'm not too bad. Who were those men?"

"We've got one of them, and Fairfax's boys at Lorean will put him through the blender," Reckland replied. "But you shouldn't remain here. Come, I'll take you home, and we'll get the police surgeon to have a look at you. Don't worry. I'll make sure you're safe."

Touched, Lavie felt a lump rise in her throat, adding to the discomfort she felt in her chest. "Thank you, Captain Reckland," she replied. "Maybe…."

But the pain overwhelmed her, and her eyes closed.

xxx

Two weeks had passed since the attempt to capture Lavie. For the Zion and Galvenian armies, they were weeks of watchful waiting – apart from a few skirmishes, both sides were reluctant to make too bold a move. Weather forecasts were unpredictable, and neither army wanted to be caught in a snowdrift – especially after the thunderstorm that had humiliated the Zion at Victoria.

Makarov Juno, in his mother's house, was recovering rapidly. He had been questioned by the police, but could not identify his assailants, and was offered immunity from any prosecution in connection with the Lugners if he agreed to join the army as soon as he recovered. He agreed to this proposal without hesitation. An unexpected but frequent visitor to his home was Marianne, who would often spend time talking to his mother, and occasionally would help her care for him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her curiously one day.

"Look, Juno, I don't have a mother any more," Marianne said frankly. "Your mother's a very nice lady, and I feel sorry for her. She was terrified that she would lose you, the way she lost your father."

"I understand," Juno replied simply. After the police had informed him that the Lugners had been manipulating him, he had spent much time thinking about the way his life had progressed in the past one year.

He still loathed Ryan – for reasons that few people knew – but somehow, that did not seem so important now. What mattered now was that he had spent a long time associating with, and abetting, two probable spies.

Juno was an honourable soldier's son, and despite the cruel streak that the loss of his father had placed in him, he realized that he had to make amends somehow.

He found himself dreaming of his childhood often – of his father, of the innocent games he had played as a small boy. Somehow, Marianne often intruded into these dreams, and try as he might to chase her away with an impatient wave, she was often there: as an elder sister kicking the ball slowly towards him, as a child of his age comforting him as he and his mother wept for his father.

"You seem quite pensive today, Juno," Marianne said one day, as she brought him a cup of tea and a tray of small cakes.

Juno eyed the tray suspiciously. "What might these be?" he asked.

"Oh, a little surprise, Juno," Marianne said with a wink. "Aunt Martha – sorry, I mean your mother – was feeling a little tired today, so I said I'd take care of tea. I used to make these for Ryan, once upon a time." She sighed.

Juno frowned, and Marianne realized her mistake.

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I know you and Ryan don't get on – and quite frankly, I think he's more or less forgotten about me."

"I would expect nothing less from him," Juno said coldly. "He does not appreciate the blessings he has, and seeks those he can never attain."

"What do you mean?" Marianne asked, looking confused.

"It is a lengthy story, Miss Marianne," Juno replied. Picking up one of the cakes, he nibbled at it, then brightened. "And, though I am no authority on such things, these are quite excellent. My compliments to the cook."

Marianne turned a bright red, and covered her face with a fold of her apron. "Thanks, Juno," she replied. "You know, a lot of people in town think you and your mother are oddballs, but now I know better. You're just grieving."

"Is it that obvious?" Juno said, with a rare smile.

"Grief can drive you crazy," Marianne reflected. "When Father and I realized that Mother was going to – walk out on us, I didn't know what to think. When she actually did, I – I wasn't myself. I couldn't think straight. I made a lot of mistakes – and one of those cost me Ryan. I'm not complaining, though. I've realized that I can't let my happiness depend entirely on another person, especially when that person has his own view of life."

"That's a wise decision, Miss Marianne," Juno said. "Perhaps I could learn something from you, young and inexperienced as you are."

Marianne frowned, then chuckled. "I don't know whether to be offended or pleased by that, Juno, but I think I'll opt for the latter. You have a strange way of expressing yourself."

"Perhaps that, too, is just grief," Juno said, in a jesting tone. There was silence in the room as he ate two more of the cakes and drank his tea. "But I will say this: you have been most helpful to my dear mother, and to me. I thank you."

"Pish posh," Marianne said, with a smile. "That's what friends are for. Do you know that Father knew your dad quite well?"

"Really?" Juno looked at her intently. "Does he –"

"Yes," Marianne replied quietly. "It's one of the reasons he's never done much business with Eramond Delivery Services, honestly."

"I would like to meet him," Juno said.

"Wait till you're a little better, mister!" Marianne said teasingly. "Now try and rest a little. The doctor'll be coming by in the evening, and you shouldn't tire yourself out. If you need me, or your mother, just call out."

"Oh, I shall," Juno replied, closing his eyes. "Thank you, M – Miss Marianne."

xxx

"He's not telling us anything," Roper said gloomily. "Either he's a man of tremendous will, or he's been subjected to some sort of drug – or magical spell, if you want to be fanciful – that prevents him from revealing the truth."

"Have you warned him that we may do – worse things, if he refuses to cooperate?" Sheffield said, shaking his head.

"That would be illegal," Roper replied. "I can't tell him that."

"Espionage and treason are illegal too," Sheffield replied, glaring at the physician.

"Calm down, Prime Minister," Sir Cornelius said. "Let us summarize what we know. Jason Schenk – who has also used the alias Jason Lugner, if we go by eyewitness testimony – was an operative of ours, gathering intelligence in the Varald Directorate. He went missing two years ago, and we thought he had been liquidated or subverted. He mysteriously reappears in Zion during the past five months, allegedly involved in a misinformation campaign about Mother Anna and her wretched prophecy. And now, we find him and his brother trying to kidnap Miss Regale. It doesn't make any sense."

"Do you have any ideas, Fairfax?" Sheffield said, still scowling.

"A nobleman had a further testimony, though he insisted on anonymity. He said that some months ago, the same two men waylaid him and threatened him, making veiled allusions to – an event in his future."

"Let us drop the mask," Sheffield said impatiently. "That will be all, Roper. See if you can increase the dose further."

After the doctor had left, Sheffield and Fairfax sat together in the latter's office.

"So they threatened Marksmith," Sheffield said.

"Furthermore, a report from our friend Scott suggests that the same men – or at least one of them – was involved in the attempt to recapture Mother Anna. One of the students helping him is now in the Army, and another is at King's College. They can easily be questioned."

"Then there's no doubt, Fairfax – this Lugner is a double agent. Either this, or our Chief of Covert Operations is playing a deep game. We need to speak to him at once."

"I agree," Fairfax replied. "We shall set up a meeting for tomorrow, once he has finished with his – ahem – other duties. In the meantime, we will set one of our younger men on the trail of this Juno, and give him privileges to enter Zion if required."

"How about that boy Tamas?" Sheffield said, cheering up a little.

"You have read my mind, Prime Minister," Sir Cornelius replied.

xxx

"Armin?" Henrik, returning to his barracks at the end of his shift at the Citadel of Derren, was pleasantly surprised to see his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunting traitors, Compadre," Armin Tamas replied. He was in the grey uniform of the Galvenian Security Services – of which the Intelligence Service was a wing – and now carried a gun at his belt, as well as a knife; in essence, however, he was still the Armin that Henrik remembered from their school days. "And you're going to help me."

"Me?" Henrik shook his head. "How can I do that?"

"First, tell me about the little errand you ran in Issachar. We suspect that one of the men who held you up is now in our custody."

Surprised, Henrik told him what had happened. Armin nodded, then took a photograph out of his pocket.

"Juno's turned King's Evidence against them, in exchange for amnesty and the draft," Armin said, "though I think they ought to shoot him. Is this the guy?"

Henrik studied the photograph carefully. "It was either him, or someone similar to him."

"Now guess what, Compadre," Armin went on. "This guy's real name is Schenk – Jason Schenk – but he goes by the alias of Jason Lugner. Does that ring a bell?"

"Lugner!" Henrik's eyebrows went up. "That guy who fought us in Davenport Woods. But – this isn't the same man. They look similar, but this guy is younger."

"They're brothers," Armin explained. "Jacob and Jason Lugner. The guy we all met is the elder one. And I'm on their trail."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir Cornelius wants me to find all possible traces of those two goons," he explained. "I'll start at Davenport, where they tried to kidnap Lavie, but she scared them off. Must've fed them some of her brownies." He chuckled.

"Kidnapping Lavie?" Henrik looked shocked. "Sweet Infinity! Just what is going on in our country, Armin?"

"Oh, things are going to get a lot more interesting, Compadre," Armin replied. Then he paused, remembering something, and his face clouded over. "Look, Henrik, you're in the army now. If you ever come across Ryan, keep an eye on him, okay? Find out if he's involved in anything fishy, and warn him that some of the big cats at Lorean are giving him the evil eye."

"What do you mean?" Henrik replied, genuinely perturbed this time.

"I'm afraid I can't spill too many beans, Compadre," he replied. "Look, I've gotta go. Look out for Ryan, and keep him out of trouble. Kid's got a big heart, and it'll get him into trouble some day."

And without saying anything more, Armin left quietly, leaving Henrik deep in thought.

xxx


	16. Chapter 15: Secrets

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**  
_**Secrets**_

**RELIGION IN GALVENIA**_….From its birth, Galvenia pursued a policy of religious tolerance, eager to dissociate itself from the "union of crown and censer" that characterized the Zion Empire under Johan. As a result, many clergymen were expelled by King Arlbert I on the pretext that they were seditious, though the intervention of Queen Mother Penelope (q.v.) forestalled the indignities that the Varald inflicted on churchmen in their lands. Though the King of Galvenia was always crowned "in the name of the Infinity and the people", and Richard Lionheart was himself a believer, the country – barring the monarchy and a few of the common people in Galvenia – gradually substituted a strong nationalism and a general deism (q.v.) for any vestiges of Church faith._

_Before the forceful restoration of the Itarian faith that accompanied the post-Terran War monarchy (see below), religious "revivals" were often confined to small cliques, largely composed of politically conscious nobles. One such movement, which played a crucial role in the War, was the self-styled "Church of Galvenia"…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"My advice to you," the Chief of Covert Operations said, looking at Sheffield with disapproval, "is to leave the man alone. He is working for us, not against us."

"How can trying to kidnap a young woman be part of your plan?" Fairfax said, a stern expression on his face.

"You have no proof that he was trying to do so," the Chief replied. "There is only Miss Regale's words, and given her father's actions, she is not a reliable witness."

"I'll trouble you to remember, my good man," Sir Prescott said, "that you are here at our good pleasure. You are not the King of Galvenia. Answer the questions we ask you, and do not be impertinent."

The Chief smiled – a cunning, cold smile. "Ah, Prescott, you're always full of pithy advice. I suppose it comes from frustration. Remember, there once was a time when you didn't speak that proudly to me."

"If you're going to waste our time," Prescott replied angrily, "then I suggest you leave now. Your refusal to answer only makes you appear as culpable as that wretch Schenk."

"Easy there, Prescott," Sir Fairfax said placatingly. "Now, I realize that we've given you a lot of rope, and overall, we're happy with how things have gone so far. But do you truly expect us to release Schenk unconditionally?"

"I can handle him," the Chief replied. "We are at war, gentlemen, and we need all the help we can get. Now that the Zion have lost Itaria, they are wounded and dangerous. They may strike suicidally, insanely, and take as much of Galvenia as they can. Schenk is crucial to undermining any such efforts on the part of the Zion."

"If that was the case, why did his associate, Juno, assault Lolek and I?" Fairfax said quietly. "If he had wanted the coded message, it would automatically have been at your disposal."

"Ah, that was a case of the Juno boy acting on his own initiative," the Chief said smoothly. "It was for this reason that Jason had to chastise him. I assure you that this was not part of our plan at all."

"I see," Sheffield replied, looking quite unconvinced.

"Prime Minister," the Chief replied with a smile, "do you really want us to work at cross-purposes? You and Fairfax have your methods, I have mine – and Prescott has his," he added, almost as an afterthought. "It would be in nobody's interests to indulge in internecine rivalry, and to test our respective strengths. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Sheffield nodded, and Fairfax did. Prescott, looking indignant, said nothing, but lowered his head briefly.

"Then we are in agreement, gentlemen," he said. "I leave you to your work, and I pray that you leave me to mine. May the Infinity bless you all."

And leaving three unsettled men behind him, Eugene Thomssen – Chief of Covert Operations for the Kingdom of Galvenia – walked out of the room and back to his quarters in the Palace, whistling a children's hymn to himself.

xxx

"By King Richard, it's good to be back in action," Ryan said, surveying the garrison at Davenport with satisfaction. Now promoted to Captain and assigned to lead the attack on the nearby town of Ismar, his recovery had surprised even the most hardened of his doctors.

_Perhaps there is something to what Lavie said. I'm not indestructible, but I'm just tougher, I guess! And that's all for the better._

"Now, Eramond," Captain Rawley said, "we're counting on you. We're sending a small troop ahead to Ismar to reconnoiter the area, and based on what they say, we're sending you in. We already hold the eastern line, thanks to the capture of Victoria and the hill passes. But they've been gathering forces on the west for a while, hoping to push us back before the snow sets in. If we can score a quick punch – or even a knockout blow – then they'll be forced to fall back, and we can let the weather chip away at them. Is that clear?"

"Of course, Sir," Ryan replied. "We're ready."

"Good," Rawley replied. "Sir Prescott's men will encircle the town, and your assault division will make the actual entry. Get ready, we're moving at 1200 hours."

"Roger, Sir," Ryan replied, his hand going to the sword Lavie had given him. He saluted, and Rawley left.

A few hours later, the reconnaissance troop returned, wearing expressions of dismay.

"Sir," their leader reported to Ryan, "they're assembling in large numbers near the outskirts of Ismar! There are easily two hundred – maybe three hundred of them there."

"Any cannons?" Ryan replied, unperturbed.

"None as far as we could see," he replied.

"Then there's nothing to worry about," Ryan said, with a steely expression that the men under him had learned to respect – and to dread. "We'll take them by surprise, and if we get into a spot of bother, the Rough Riders are always there to take over. It'll be a piece of cake."

"Ryan," Sergeant Wilson, his new second-in-command, replied, "sometimes you're just a little _too_ confident. But anyway, I have good news. We've been given fifty new men on loan from the Citadel of Derren, so our own force is a hundred and twenty strong. We're easily worth two of them."

"Who's too confident now, Sean?" Ryan joked. As he reviewed the men, he was struck by a familiar face.

"Henrik?" He frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"The same as you," Henrik replied with a smile, "but at a much lower rank. Just don't make me peel potatoes."

Ryan chuckled. "Very funny, Private Spenson. I'll make you peel the carrots instead. Just don't go punching me in the face this time, all right?"

"Actually," Henrik began, "I can explain…."

"Later, Henrik," Ryan said firmly. "We've got a job to do."

At 1200 hours, the Galvenian force under Ryan marched on Ismar. Noticing that the Zion forces were trying to encircle them, they fell back and began to fire with their grenade launchers, breaking both lines. However, this infuriated the Zion, and they began to attack in the old Zionese style, charging forward in a near-suicidal manner. By doing so, they managed to cut into one flank of Ryan's troops.

"Damn it!" Henrik said, drawing his rifle and firing. Four Zionese soldiers dropped dead, and the incursion was temporarily halted, though at the cost of seven of Ryan's men.

"They're coming out of the city!" Sergeant Wilson exclaimed. And, indeed, a further troop of one hundred men was charging forward, attempting to cut the Galvenian force into two.

The battle that followed was fierce and bloody, but though the Zionese were numerous, the Galvenians were better trained and disciplined – and Ryan's weapon was hard to withstand. The fighting lasted several hours, and cost Ryan nearly half his forces, but at the end of it all, almost the entire Zionese force had fallen. Looking at his new sword with a mixture of awe and fear, Ryan surveyed the streets of Ismar, which were deserted.

_This power,_ he thought. _It's uncanny – beyond anything I'd ever imagined. Beyond any ordinary weapon, even Grandpa's sword._

"Henrik, take ten men and start helping out the wounded," he ordered. "Sean, take half of the boys left standing, and head for the mayor's office. I'll look for any sort of arms depot."

He had not gone far, however, when a cry of alarm made him retrace his steps.

As he turned back, he saw that Sean was lying on the ground, barely breathing, and that five other men were lying on the ground, curled up in agony. Standing on the balcony of the Mayor's house was a man in a dark cloak, staring at him.

"I am Mayor Augustus Horamin," he said calmly. "Take your troops out of this city, or I shall dispose of them one by one."

"Horamin?" Ryan shook his head. "Do you get your names from storybooks these days?"

"Silence, you young dog!" Augustus Horamin said angrily. "The people of this fair city mock you, Galvenian intruder. Now leave."

"Try and make me," Ryan said, looking him straight in the eye.

"You asked for it!" Horamin drew his sword, and a beam of red light shot straight towards Ryan's chest. He stepped aside quickly, and the beam struck a nearby hut, setting its roof on fire.

"Damn it!" Ryan aimed his shorter sword at the roof, and a gust of wind soon extinguished the fire. He did not know where this knowledge came from – he was acting instinctively, as if it was something innate to him. A second beam whistled past his hair, and a third was blocked by his shield.

"My turn, now," Ryan said, drawing the sword Lavie had given him. Closing his eyes, he lunged forward, and it seemed as if the entire space between him and Horamin became a sheet of yellow light. Stunned, Horamin fell from the balcony and onto the ground below, with a high-pitched shriek.

"Not so proud now, are you?" Ryan said, looking at the prone man before him, who was bleeding from a wound to the head.

"Impossible…." Augustus Horamin muttered. "The son of Samath….only he could wield such power."

"Speak louder," Ryan taunted him. "I can't hear you."

"You may defeat us, boy – but you will never…truly win," he said, in a whisper. "The sword….can never triumph…..over the spirit…."

There was a gurgle in his throat, and he lay motionless.

"Evacuate the civilians," Ryan said, turning around to face his awe-struck men, "but destroy everything that the Zion soldiers could use. As for this man's magical weapons" – he looked at Horamin with contempt – "we'll take them back to Lorean. Perhaps our scientists there can learn something from them."

"What happened?" Henrik asked, struck with amazement.

"Oh, our friend Horamin was enlightened, that's all," Ryan said casually, returning his sword to its scabbard. "Mission accomplished. Let's mop up."

Henrik set about his task, still wondering…

xxx

"Good luck, Juno," Marianne said. She was standing near the entrance to Davenport Woods, wearing a long coat as protection against the wind. A few flakes of snow fell to the ground around her. "I hope you make it back safely. Your mother'll be waiting for you, and – so will I, I guess." She laughed lightly.

"Ah, a little levity is never amiss at moments like these, Miss Marianne," Juno replied. He had received his papers a day earlier from Captain Reckland – an assignment to join the garrison at Victoria along with forty other new recruits – and, now that his wounds were healed, he was eager to see combat. "I thank you, and I assure you that I intend to return alive."

"Juno," Marianne said gently, "can I ask you something?"

"If it pleases you," Juno replied.

"Why do you hate Ryan so much?" she blurted out. "I mean – I've known him pretty closely, and though he's not perfect, he's certainly not evil!"

There was a long pause before Juno spoke again.

"Miss Marianne," he said, "I will assume that you are not being impertinent, and that you truly wish to know. Because of the services you have rendered my dear mother, I believe you deserve an answer. Come, let us sit down comfortably."

They sat down on an old tree trunk, beneath the tree where Marianne had found him.

"This story took place in 288," Juno began. "It was a few years after Darington, and there were bandits loose – disgruntled citizens from that town, Zion army deserters, and the usual rogues. My father, Lieutenant Franz Juno, was the commanding officer of the Territorial Army troops at Davenport, and he had been warned that a valuable shipment of goods was coming to town, and that the bandits were aware of this."

"He prepared his troops for action, though they were young and inexperienced. The night before he died" – Juno closed his eyes – "a man met him – an Intelligence agent named Londes Kodenai. He warned my father that bandits, probably of Zionese origin, would attack Davenport. However, he went on to say that the bandits were probably involved in an elaborate fraud. They would attack one particular location, steal a shipment of goods that was actually illegal, and disappear. This shipment would then be taken across enemy lines to Caledonia, while the apparent victim of the theft would be generously reimbursed by his insurance company. Kodenai told my father that he had learned of this by eavesdropping on a Galvenian noble whom, he said, had long been under suspicion. He provided my father with details of the bandit attack, and told him to get ready to intercept them. Once this was done, and the bandits were captured, Kodenai would arrest the businessman involved in the entire fraud."

"Night fell. The bandits arrived earlier than expected, and from a different direction. My father's men panicked, though he tried to rally them. However, they were no ordinary bandits: they had magical weapons, and the Territorial Army was no match for them. Some of the men, including my father's friend, John Reckland, fled in terror. As they did, they realized to their horror that Kodenai was with the bandits – he was part of them all along. Fortunately, thanks to my father's efforts, the bandits did not get what they wanted. The next day, Kodenai visited the man's house and picked up his parcel, then disappeared. He was seen by several people, including my mother, though she only realized who he was when John explained it to us. He told us the entire truth, stood trial for desertion, and has helped us ever since."

Marianne looked at Juno with horror. "And that businessman was…"

"Theodore Eramond, Ryan's father," Juno replied, between clenched teeth. "What is worse, he and Kodenai – terrified by the fact that the ploy had not fully succeeded – spread a false story, claiming that my father, too, had turned and run. As a result, we only received half the pension we would have if he had been decorated for his valour. My mother, on hearing this – John kept us posted throughout – pleaded with him to tell the truth, but he laughed and shut the door in her face. And today, he is one of Davenport's upstanding citizens, a pillar of society, while my father – who died a hero – is unknown and unsung."

"Does anyone else know this?" Marianne said softly.

"Spenson does, Miss Marianne – and now you do. Spenson's late mother was a good friend of ours, and she was maid of honour on my parents' wedding day."

"Juno, I'm sorry," Marianne said. "I know that's hardly enough, but I'm truly sorry that you've had such a hard life."

"Well, I am hardly the only one, Miss Marianne," Juno replied. "I can see that life has been no bed of roses for you either."

"Well, I'm not complaining – at least not too much," she said, with a faint smile. "But couldn't they set the record straight?"

"John tried, and so did Colonel Hartford of the Territorial Army, his superior. Both of them were furious that the integrity of their troops was being impugned in this manner. But they were blocked through the machinations of nobles in Lorean, who were acting as conduits for the package. John heard that it might have been the Duke of Marksmith and his mother, but that was only a rumour."

"What was in that package?" Marianne wondered. "It must have been quite valuable, for it to cost so many lives and reputations."

"I found that out last year, when doing a little investigation of my own," Juno replied. "According to the insurance claim, the package contained three statues."

"All that over _statues_?" Marianne said, outraged.

"They were probably historical or magical artifacts, Miss Marianne," Juno replied.

"My father could find out what they were," Marianne mused. "He knows a lot of people in the right places, though he's not a big fish himself."

"That would be most helpful," said Juno.

"But – all right, I get it that Ryan's dad wronged you and your family, and probably did something criminal, though that's hard to imagine," Marianne said suddenly. "But does Ryan know about this?"

"A good point," Juno said, surprised. "I can only infer it from his behaviour, especially his constant barbs at our position in life. But it is entirely possible that he does not know. In that case" – his lips curved into a smile – "he will have quite a surprise when he finds out."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" Marianne replied, looking worried.

"I am not as low as Theodore Eramond, Miss Marianne," Juno said quietly. "And now, I must leave. Thank you for your company, and I wish – I mean, I hope to see you someday, after this insane war is over."

"Me too, Juno," Marianne replied. "Take care, okay? Your mother and I will be waiting for you."

"I appreciate that, Marianne," he said, and she blushed. He held out his hand, and they shook hands. "Goodbye, and good fortune to you as well."

xxx

"Eramond," the man said, "a word with you, if I may."

"Agent Schenk!" Ryan's eyes opened wide, and he sat down on his bunk. "How did they let you into camp?"

"Oh, we have our means," Schenk said with a grin. "I've come to give you a little present. Call it an advance greeting for Saint Mikhail's Day."

"A present?" Ryan chuckled. "Funny time to be handing out a present."

"Cast your memory back, Captain Eramond," Jason said in a friendly tone. "Remember how this whole story began. You were delivering a parcel to Caledonia."

"Yes, I remember all too well," Ryan said ruefully.

"Do you have any idea what it contained?" Jason asked him.

"I'm afraid not," Ryan replied. "It was taken from me by a Zion officer named Shimura, after he and his thugs had finished manhandling me. By King Richard, it feels good to get back at them in this war."

"Well, that package did spend some time with the Zion, though it didn't do them much good," Jason said, shrugging his shoulders. "However, you might like to have it back."

"What on Terra for?" Ryan said, looking perplexed.

"There is a letter with it that will tell you the truth," Jason replied, placing both the letter and the package on Ryan's cot, "but I must leave now. Good luck, Captain Eramond."

And before Ryan could react, Jason had crept out of the tent, and disappeared into the winter night.

Picking up the envelope, Ryan opened it. It was bulky, and contained several sheets of paper: a letter, signed by Jason Schenk himself, and copies of several documents, some of them quite old. He looked at them with increasing dismay, unable to believe what he had read.

_No_, he told himself. _This is impossible. This can't be. _

As he came to the last page, he was close to despair – and then he stopped short, letting out a low cry. The last page was a map of the territory around Darington, with a circle marking a particular location in the hills outside the village of Victoria.

Scrawled at the bottom of the page was a single line, in Jason's writing.

_The key to the depot is in the package. Make haste, before the Zion recover what is theirs._

Suddenly, he made his mind up.

_The other thing – God, I don't want to think about it – can wait. At least now I understand why Schenk wants to help me, though. Blood is thicker than water, I guess_. He smiled wryly. _I'll run this by Rawley tomorrow, and I hope he's not playing games with me. This could mean everything for Galvenia – and for Carranya._

_Oh, Carranya._

_How can I face you, knowing what I know now?_

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he could not remove Jason's face – or his own father's – from before his eyes. Uneasy, he threw his blanket aside and picked up the parcel.

Suddenly, a wave of peace came over him. He opened it with a clumsy movement, revealing three crudely designed statues that seemed to glow red in the darkness. He did not know from where the realization came, but suddenly, he understood what he had to do. Words formed in his mind.

_Everything will be all right._

_I am not my father._

_xxx_

"Henrik!" Viola said excitedly, as she saw him walking down a corridor of King's College. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon! Are you all right? Or have you been given a new mission?"

"Hey, good to see you again," Henrik replied. "I was looking for you, actually. Nothing too glamorous on the mission front, though. Things were a little quiet at the Citadel of Derren after Ryan and his men captured Ismar, so they've placed me on temporary guard duty. Five of us will escort Mother Anna from here to the Friary in the city, where the Pontiff is staying, and then we'll take both of them to the Palace. The Queen has offered them shelter there."

"How are things out there?" she said softly.

"Not too bad, though Ismar was a mess," he said ruefully. "Some of my platoon-mates didn't make it, others are in the hospital. The Zion fought like they were possessed."

"I'm sorry, Henrik," Viola replied. "Are you holding up all right?"

"I'm fine," he said calmly. "I'm just worried about Ryan. He's risen through the ranks very fast, and he's begun to fight almost like the Zion – taking no prisoners, showing very little pity. He does spare the civilians, though." He paused, then shook his head. "During the capture of Ismar, he even fought with the Mayor – both of them had magic weapons, somehow – and Ryan was ruthless. I wanted to ask him what happened, but we didn't have the time to talk. My friend Armin, who's in the Intelligence Service, was also concerned about him."

"Armin, the goof-off of our class?" Viola laughed. "He got into the Secret Service? They must have been desperate."

"He seems to be enjoying himself," Henrik replied. "It was uncanny – seeing Ryan use his sword to strike that man without even touching him. It was as if the whole sky was lit up by a sheet of lightning, and he fell and broke his skull."

"Ryan has magical abilities?" Viola's eyes widened. "Are you sure of this?"

"It certainly looked like that to me, and our leader, Sergeant Sean Wilson, said he was sure of it. He received a briefing on magical weapons when he was promoted to fight the Zion, and he explained that only someone who had 'the gift', as they call it in Zion, could use such a devastating attack."

"That's sort of frightening, actually," Viola replied. "For one man to have that much power…"

"Yes, I wonder too. But then, who am I to judge? Look at the two of us. We're ordinary people without such abilities, and therefore, such things unnerve us. But what if we had them? Would they just be something ordinary, like the ability to draw or play a musical instrument? Or would they change us?"

"They haven't changed _me_," Viola said softly, lowering her head.

"Huh?" Henrik said, wondering if he had heard her correctly. "What do you mean?"

"Henrik," Viola said, "would you mind if I – told you something?"

"Well, why not?" he replied. "Come, I'll get you a cup of tea. It's cold enough to freeze Ryan's lightning out there."

They made their way to the cafeteria, and sat down next to each other. Henrik ordered a pot of tea, and when they had both warmed themselves a little, Viola began to speak.

"Do you remember when we accompanied Mother Anna, Henrik?" she said. "Juno was about to drag her away, and then he was knocked down by the wind, allowing you to take care of him."

"Yes, I remember," Henrik said. "The Infinity works in mysterious ways."

"That wasn't the weather, Henrik," she replied. "That was me."

Henrik stared at her. "You mean _you…._"

"Yes," Viola said, blushing and beginning to tremble. "In the old days, they would have called me a wind mage, or a mistress of the wind, or something colourful like that. But today, people like me are just oddities."

"You're not an oddity," Henrik said warmly, "though I do like the sound of those old terms. How long have you known about this?"

"Since I was a little girl," she said. "The first time I found out was when Daddy was sent to Zion on an assignment, and Mummy and I went to see him off. I was sad to see him go – and suddenly a wind came up and almost blew his cloak over his head." She smiled. "Daddy knew about such things – there isn't much that sailors don't – and he asked me to try doing it again. I found I could do it almost at will – like waving my hands or singing. Mummy didn't know what to think, but Daddy convinced her that it was quite harmless. I'd stand near the beach, making waves near the shore, pushing the sand aside. It was fun, really. It was my little secret. I'd blow out the candles on birthday cakes with a little gust, and everyone would laugh, not knowing how I was doing it. I'd ruffle people's hair with a bit of wind, and they'd look puzzled."

"That changed when I was twelve. A man came to my house. He was from the Covert Operations Service, and had heard rumours about me. He said the Government was bringing in strict new rules about people who had 'the gift', and that I could be taken to Lorean and placed in an institution. Mummy and Daddy were very upset when they heard this, and so was I. He then offered me an alternative – he said that if I agreed to undergo testing at the Museum of Science and Lore, he could convince the authorities that I was harmless."

"I've never heard of this," Henrik said, puzzled. "The Museum of Science and Lore studies magic, sure, but the Galvenian government's never taken an official position on this."

"Daddy asked him about that," Viola said nervously, "and he explained that it was because the Queen, and some of the nobles at court – such as the Duke of Marksmith and his mother – were very religious, and saw magic as evil. In fact, he said that besides working for the Secret Services, he was a priest of the Church of Galvenia."

"The Church of Galvenia?" Henrik exclaimed. "The man's a con-man, Viola! There is _no_ 'Church of Galvenia', at least none that I've heard of – and I've studied Church history quite carefully! He must have been a rogue mage or scientist. What did he want with you?"

"Unfortunately, he had official papers with him," Viola said, beginning to tremble again. Henrik placed a hand on her shoulders, and nodded encouragingly. "Daddy asked him for a day to think it over, and he returned the next morning – with a policeman."

"Sweet Infinity!" Henrik exclaimed.

"We were all scared. We talked about it for a while, and finally, we agreed to go to the Museum at Lorean. They promised us it would only take a day. After we got there, the man in priest's clothing took me into a section of the museum on the first floor, and I couldn't see my parents at all."

"At first, it was simple – he asked me to demonstrate what I could do, and he used a machine that glowed blue whenever I called up a gust of wind, taking down readings whenever I did. Then he placed me in a room with no air, gave me a mask to breathe, and asked me to try again. I couldn't. I remember him shouting at me, and then I felt sick, and then…"

Henrik patted her hand, but said nothing.

"I don't know how much time passed after that," she said, choking back a sob. "I woke up in another room, wearing a robe, something like a hospital gown. I couldn't find my clothes. My arms and legs were bruised, and my body ached all over. I was terrified. There was a sheet covering me, which looked like it was blood-stained, but I wasn't bleeding. I don't know if they withdrew some of my blood for testing….I began to cry, calling out for my mother and father, but all I could hear was the echo of my own voice."

Henrik's expression darkened, but he still remained silent, holding her hand.

"After what seemed like forever, the door opened, and the man came in. He handed me my clothes, and told me that I was all right – I wouldn't be able to use my abilities again. He apologized for the pain I was feeling – he said that I'd had a seizure, perhaps because I wasn't in control of my abilities. He gave me a potion to drink, and the pain slowly faded away, though I still felt weak. He waited outside while I got dressed, and then I was back with Mummy and Daddy again. I was so relieved, Henrik - I thought I'd never escape from there."

Henrik offered her his shoulder for support, and she was silent for a long while, apart from the deep breaths she drew as she tried to silence her own tears. This drew curious stares from the cafeteria's other occupants, but neither of them were particularly concerned.

After some time, she pulled away, and Henrik placed his hands on her shoulders.

"But he lied," he said quietly. "You still have the ability, don't you?"

"Not as I did before," she whispered. "I could use it only when I was feeling a strong emotion, like sadness or fear, but not at other times. I realized that after Daddy died, but I tried to forget about it – I didn't want to think about it anymore. That day in the woods with you and Mother Anna was the first time I actually tried to use it for anything useful."

"And it worked," Henrik said warmly. "You saved Mother Anna's life, and quite probably mine as well – if Juno hadn't been distracted at that moment, he would have used that crazy fire sword to silence us all. You made a difference, Viola. You're not an oddity, you're a heroine."

"Really?" Viola said timidly.

"Well, I'm sure Mother Anna will think so too. As for that man" – his expression turned angry – "if he ever crosses my path, I'll teach him a good lesson, one that he'll never forget. He had no right to perform an unauthorized human experiment, especially on my best friend. He's a criminal and a monster. What was his name?"

"I don't know," Viola replied, closing her eyes and leaning against him. "I did hear the coachman refer to him as Father, but that's all I know."

"Impersonating a clergyman's a crime, too," Henrik replied. "Well, if I ever come across that fine gentleman, he will receive a few bruises and blood-stains from my sword."

"And you're not afraid of me?" Viola asked hesitantly.

"Of course not – heck, if there was any 'mage' I'd be afraid of, it'd be _Ryan_ and not you. But let me offer you a little diversion. How would you like a little carriage ride?"

"A ride?"

"Mother Anna needs someone to accompany her to the Friary, and then up to the Palace," Henrik explained. "According to the rules of her Order, she can't travel alone with a man, especially a bloodthirsty soldier like me. She asked for you, but only if you were free. I think she cares for you a great deal, especially after you looked after her. I came to ask you if you'd be willing to come."

"With you and Mother Anna?" Viola brightened and smiled. "Of course I will, Henrik! Come, let's get going!"

Henrik suddenly felt a light breeze blow through his already untidy hair, making it even untidier. He laughed.

"I thought you could only do that if you were afraid," he said.

"Fear isn't…" Viola began, then blushed.

"Isn't what?" Henrik probed.

"Isn't the only strong emotion, Private Spenson," she said, hiding her face in her shawl.

Henrik turned red up to his ears and smiled, but said nothing as they headed for Mother Anna's quarters.

xxx

"You failed us," Jason Lugner said, towering over Theodore Eramond, who seemed to shrink and cower behind his desk. Jason's smile had not left his face, but this did not comfort Theodore in the least.

"_I_ failed you?" Theodore said feebly. "I allowed your men to wait in my warehouse. I introduced you to Clarissa Crenshaw. What happened after that was not my fault. Besides, I had no idea you were going to harm Lavie – _Lavie_, of all people! I know you don't think too highly of my family values, Jason, but that girl is like a daughter to me, and a sister to Ryan."

"Ah, Theodore – water was always thicker than blood for you, wasn't it?" Jason said with a smirk. "So, when Reckland and his men came around, you very kindly directed them to Clarissa's shop. It may please you to know that we are aware of your duplicity. But then, Mother could have told us a thing or two about that."

There is a limit beyond which no man can be pushed, and Theodore was close to reaching his. He stood up and glared at Jason, his hands shaking furiously. "Jason, do not cross that line," he said. "I will tolerate a good deal of nonsense from you, but I am warning you…"

Jason laughed. "It's a little late in the day to play the concerned father, Theodore Eramond. You might be interested in knowing that I handed a certain set of documents – and a parcel that has a _very_ interesting history – to your precious son, Ryan Eramond. I would have given a million Commonwealth dollars to see his reaction to that, but I'm afraid I'll have to concede that pleasure to Jacob."

"You…..Please," Theodore said, turning grey. "Please tell me you didn't…"

"Crime and punishment, Theodore," Jason said, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "I wonder what he'll say to you on his next furlough – assuming he even bothers to come. The contents of that parcel will keep him absorbed for the rest of his life, if blood means more to him than it does to you."

"Curse you, Jason!" Theodore said impotently. "Curse you!"

"Tsk, tsk," Jason replied. "Such language from a man of your dignity and position. Now, enjoy the rest of your life, Theodore. As far as Jacob and I are concerned, we have nothing more to ask of you. If you should require our help, however, be mindful that it comes at a price."

Theodore slumped forward on his desk, his shoulders twitching, as Jason left the room.

"Goodness, you do seem to be meeting my husband quite often, Mr. Schenk," Sheila Eramond said, as he passed her by in the hallway. "Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, no," Jason replied pleasantly. "He's just working too hard, ma'am. Take good care of him."

xxx


	17. Chapter 16: Prophecy

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**  
_**Prophecy**_

**SAMATH **_**(fl. c. C.Y. 85)**__….The conventional story of Samath as an evil traitor has been challenged by modern scholars of myth, such as Anne Reckland (q.v.), who believe that much of the "heroic legend of the Journeymen" is made out of whole cloth. According to her, its historical kernel was merely a group of mages competing for power and glory, with Samath as the eponym of the losing faction or group. The strongest evidence in support of Reckland's thesis is the large number of glaring omissions in the traditional account. If Samath was the Journeymen's next designated leader ("Grand Master"), why was his candidacy handled in such a cloak-and-dagger fashion? What is the mysterious "secret" that he accuses Kaleb of in the Nealus Hessen manuscript, "A Hero's Tale"? How did Kaleb – who allegedly sacrificed his life to seal the demon of Koroth – manage to return, complete his journal down to the smallest detail, and then conveniently die? _

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

As the winter grew darker and colder, a subtle change came over Pope Pious XXI – installed comfortably enough with Mother Anna at the court of King Arlbert. Always a cheerful soul, he grew troubled and worried, and when called upon to deliver a homily on the occasion of Saint Mikhail's Day, his tone was so somber that the King complained that it had affected his digestion.

"Saint Mikhail was no soldier," Pious had said, "but he knew why and how to die. How many of us can say this today? The day is coming – no, it is already upon us – when people will ask for death because life has become unbearable for them. But there is worse, children of Galvenia. A day will come when life and death will cease to mean what they once did – when you will look around in confusion, unsure about the very meanings of right and wrong, cursing your liberator and envying your oppressor. And all this is inevitable – it must come to pass, because of the wickedness of men. God is merciful, but those who presume upon His mercy will draw the sternest judgement upon themselves. Good men will do terrible things, all because we were blind to the evil amidst us."

"By Saint Geraud," Lady Rochelle Anton had dared to say, shivering, "far be it from me to criticize the Pontiff, but he is growing as melancholy as Thomssen these days."

The snow had turned to frost, and both armies were forced to wait. On the whole, the Galvenians had the honours, though the fighting was limited to the odd skirmish. Their efforts to ensure a supply of food to civilians in the villages they had captured – an endeavour in which both the Rough Riders and Ryan's assult corps played a part – earned them praise at the Commonwealth, while the Zion fumed and threatened reprisals. The ice made it impossible for Ryan to carry out Schenk's enigmatic mission, and he chafed inwardly, but kept silent.

Finally, Pious XXI acted, and informed the King and Queen that, as soon as the snows began to melt, he would return to Itaria, where an official cease-fire was finally declared after a few further abortive raids from Zion ships had run into the ice-floes of the Itarian sea.

It was a chill January night, the day before Pious' ship was about to set sail, that he retired to his chamber. Mother Anna, whose lungs were still feeling the cold, would remain behind, and Viola had returned to the Palace to help escort her back to King's College. Henrik – still attached to the Pontiff's guard – was escorting him, and left him near his door when the Pontiff suddenly raised his hand.

"Private Spenson," he said, "would you grant me the favour of a few moments' conversation? I need the opinion of an open mind."

Henrik blushed. "Th – the honour would be mine, Holy Father," he stammered.

"Oh, put yourself at ease, my son," Pious replied, switching on the lights and pointing to a chair beside his sofa. His eyes fastened on the medallion around Henrik's neck, and he smiled. "I see you belong to the Faith, my son."

"My whole family does," Henrik replied, "though my father has his own interesting additions to it."

Pious laughed. "Ah, one of those," he said. "As long as he does not set himself up as another anti-Pontiff, I have no complaints. I must confess that King's College does play host to some fine souls. The young girl who is caring for Mother Anna – the one named after those purple flowers you have in Galvenia – is one of them, and so are you."

"Viola's a wonderful person, Holy Father," Henrik said enthusiastically.

"Don't let that stop you, my boy," Pious said affectionately, noting Henrik's flush. "Even wonderful persons have to marry, and to bring forth new generations that will undo the crimes of their fathers. It is left for those who are not so wonderful to become Pontiffs."

Henrik chuckled. "That's a good one," he said.

"Now, let us move on to more serious matters," Pious XXI said. "As a college student, I presume you are trained to think logically and ethically."

"I guess so," Henrik said shyly.

"Then consider the following situation. A man is faced with two choices of action. The first will also allow many of his fellow men to lead peaceful, happy lives, much like the ones you knew before this war began. The second will lead to death, pain, and the rise of a world order that entails the death of what you Galvenians would call 'the good old days'. And yet…"

Henrik said nothing, but looked with amazement at the Pontiff's face, which seemed ageless, as if he was merely the mouthpiece of a higher power.

"And yet – the first is a cruel lie. It cannot last, and it must lead to an even bleaker and more horrendous future. The second, though painful, is the truth – the truth that hides no ugly fact, but that brings it out, screaming, into the light. It will heal, but it will heal painfully, like a surgeon's knife. Now tell me, Private. Which would you choose?"

"Hmm," Henrik replied, "that's quite a question. Being Galvenian, I'd say: look for a third alternative." He smiled. "But if the man could be sure that those two alternatives were the only option, he would have to choose the second, as difficult as it seems."

"Thank you, Private," the Pontiff said, placing his hand over Henrik's head and blessing him. "Thank you for confirming my intentions. It is true that I ought not seek such foolish forms of reassurance, but the flesh is weak. Go with God, Private, and may you and the woman be preserved through the trials that must come."

"Thank you, Holy Father," Henrik replied, kneeling before him and kissing his ring. As he rose to leave, a woman entered the room.

"Your Holiness!" Lady Rochelle Anton said, surprised. "Are you still awake?"

"I was merely talking to my young friend here," he said, indicating Henrik, who saluted them both and then left. "At my age, the companionship of the young is always welcome."

"You should rest, Holy Father," she admonished him. "Your ship will set sail tomorrow evening."

"Oh, do not worry about me, my lady," the Pontiff replied. "Worry about the fine ladies and gentlemen of your court – those who proclaim their patriotism or loudly, but who lack the will to amend their ways. It takes courage to change, Lady Anton – a courage that even the most battle-hardened soldier sometimes lacks." He looked at her appraisingly. "But I do not think you lack courage, my lady."

"Your Holiness, I am flattered and humbled by your kind words," Lady Anton replied, blushing.

"Good night, then, my lady," he said. "Courage."

xxx

"I don't like it, Sir Prescott," Major Rawley – formerly Captain Rawley - protested. "What good could come of such an expedition?"

"Rawley," Sir Prescott replied, "as a soldier, I have learned to back my intuition. I am not a friend of Eramond's, and I personally know next to nothing about magic. But somehow, I feel that this is important. I have long heard, from my father and grandfather, that those hills around Victoria hold some of the Zion's dark secrets. And if Eramond wishes to uncover them, who am I to stop him?"

"Still, Sir Prescott, he is one of our best men. He is able to command the respect of his troop, and leaders are always valuable during a war. It is true that the Zion have been silent, but if they hear that we have been interfering with their arms caches…."

"Who will tell them, Rawley? I have read the documents Eramond gave me, and have spoken to Headquarters about the intelligence they contain. They cannot confirm every detail, but there is good reason to believe that those papers tell a true story."

"Very well," Rawley said reluctantly.

"Now, we need not risk lives unnecessarily. We will hold our positions. Ask Eramond to take ten men with him, and use the new recruits to guide the hill passes. Give him a day to complete his mission. If he finds anything valuable, it is to our credit, and a bleeding nose for Hunermann and his lick-spittle Council. If not, it is merely a day of wasted time, and we will 'reward' him by sending him back to hold the line in front of Ismar. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes, sir," Rawley replied stiffly.

And so it was that Ryan – accompanied by a team of ten of his best men – headed for the location that was indicated on the map Jason Schenk had given him. He felt strangely light-hearted, even euphoric. Even the letter he had received from his mother, earlier that day, failed to dampen his enthusiasm.

_Your father has been quite unwell of late, Ryan,_ she had written near the end of the missive, her pen suddenly growing unsteady. _He has been worried about business, and has been having attacks of chest pain and faintness. The doctor says his heart is affected by the strain, but even his medicines don't seem to help much. I hope you will be with us soon, Ryan. He misses you, as I do, but we are both very proud of you._

_Forget Dad,_ Ryan thought, impatient to go where the statues were leading him. _Let him squirm a little. He deserves it._

As he reached the spot indicated, he was greeted by a familiar face, at the head of a troop of regular infantrymen.

"Henrik?" He frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Captain Rawley asked us to guard your back, just in case it's a trap," Henrik explained. "There are twenty of us, so don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Ryan said, with a laugh. "We'll be done before you even know it." He and his men began to climb from hill to hill, heading for a particular cavern. As he disappeared out of their sight, one of the soldiers walked up to Henrik.

"This is a trap, Spenson," Juno said. "This is surely a trick from that renegade, Jason Schenk. He is playing on Eramond's feelings, as he is on mine."

"I have to agree with you," Henrik admitted. "Look, Juno, why don't we move closer? Ten of us can remain down here and raise the alarm. If Ryan does anything silly, or gets into trouble, we'll move in."

Juno smiled. "An excellent idea," he said. Moving quietly, anxious not to alarm Ryan, they followed him until he and the men with him disappeared into a cave, whose mouth was framed by decaying logs of wood.

"It looks like an old mine," Henrik said. "Let's wait and watch."

Ryan, in the meantime, had headed inside. Following a straight path, it was not long before he found himself in a larger cave, in front of a door. The walls of the cave glowed red, and there was an unnatural heat in the room.

"I didn't know they had a hot spring down here," Sean Wilson joked. "Maybe this was the Zion's treasure – a health cure for old geezers."

"Very amusing," Ryan said, a broad smile on his face. "Now, let's get that door open."

"Did you see that?" one of the privates said nervously.

"See what?" Ryan replied.

"A white figure, like a woman with wings," he said. "I saw it for a moment, and it was gone."

"I'll give you credit for coming up with something more interesting than pink elephants, Young," Ryan replied. Opening his haversack, he extracted the three statues from it, and placed them in the slots near the door.

"What are you doing, Ryan?" Wilson said, looking at him with alarm.

"Getting the door open," Ryan replied, and burst into laughter. "Every lock needs a key, right?"

"Ryan," he said, softly, "do you realize that this could be dangerous? What if there are mages hiding in there?"

"Then we take them down, old bean," Ryan retorted.

There was silence for a moment, then the ground shook, bringing all of them to their knees – all except Ryan.

"Yes," he said, in a harsh voice quite unlike his own. "Yes, I give you what is mine, that you may give me what is yours."

"This is giving me the creeps," another of the soldiers said, looking at the exit nervously.

The door slowly slid open, and a warm wind emerged from it.

"Captain, be careful," Wilson said.

"You don't get it, do you, Sean?" Ryan replied, an expression of happiness and relief on his face. "This was supposed to happen. Follow me!"

Reluctantly, the other men entered the passage that had just opened up. They found themselves looking at another cave, which glittered and sparkled with hundreds of colours. The floor of the cave was covered with minerals and crystals of various kinds, which had clearly been mined, and stacks of swords and shields lay next to them in profusion. Behind this treasure trove was what nowlooked like a landfill, but must have been – judging by the walls – a sheer drop into a lower cave.

"Glorious," Ryan said, raising his arms. "Minerals, weapons, shields – and, finally, _home. _Where I belong."

"Ryan?" Sean stared at him in horror.

"What's the matter?" Ryan said, looking at him with a puzzled expression. "Did you see a pink elephant too?"

"Ryan, there's something wrong here," he said. "Let's leave."

"Leave? First, let's evacuate all this stuff, or at least the weapons. We can come back for the minerals later, if you want. Just imagine how much this is going to hurt the Zion," Ryan gloated.

"Ryan…"

"Orders are orders, Sean," he said firmly, picking up an arm guard and strapping it onto his arm. "Get to it, men! Ask those outside to stand near the entrance, and carry these things out. This room must not be too crowded. It is of the utmost importance!"

Slowly, Sean and the rest of the men began carrying the weapons out of the small cave, while Private Young sent a radio message to those waiting outside.

_You see, don't you? I have been waiting for you._

"I see," Ryan replied. "I was blind, but now I can see clearly."

_Welcome, son of Kaleb, and son of Samath. Welcome, Grand Master of the Order of the Journeymen. In you, the old wound will be healed. The Zion would not accept us, so let them be accursed. It is Galvenia who shall receive our favours._

"Who are you?" he said softly.

"Captain?" one of the soldiers said nervously. "Who are you speaking to?"

"Silence!" Ryan said firmly. "This must be handled delicately."

The soldier was silenced, but continued to look at Ryan with fear and dismay.

_My name is not important. _It was a gentle, female voice – much like that of the Princess. He could see her – he could almost touch her._ What matters is that you, Ryan Aramondrius, are here today. Hold out your sword._

He drew it, and a flash of brilliant white light illuminated the cave.

_Now leave, Ryan Aramondrius,_ the voice said calmly. _Do not return until I call you. It will be long before we can meet again, but do not be afraid. And do not worry about the Princess, either. I can help you, but I cannot come into the open._

"I understand," Ryan said, bowing his head and smiling. "Thank you."

Behind him, just out of his line of sight, Henrik and Juno – who, with their comrades, had been pressed into duty – watched, shock on their faces.

"What happened, Spenson?" Juno muttered, fear in his eyes. "Is he insane?"

"That would actually comfort me," Henrik said, closing his eyes and praying silently. "I'm afraid it's something far worse."

xxx

"Gentlemen," Commissioner Jansen said, red-eyed and somber, "as repugnant as it is for me to announce this to you, Director Russell Kievan has authorized me to inform you that, given the heavy losses of life occasioned by the second wave of the plague – a sickness that has now struck not only our nation, but Itaria and the Fulton Republic – it is impossible for us to continue this war without spreading this disease to the rest of Terra. He has authorized me to begin negotiations for a cease-fire."

"Jansen crying?" Lord Lucan whispered. "What next, Archbishop? Will a stone bleed?"

"The Varald are men, Lucan,"Mazarus admonished him. "Jansen's own mother and father have succumbed to the plague, and his sister is desperately ill. Even members of Kievan's household are affected. After an apparent lull, the microbes have returned with a vengeance. God help us all."

"You are fortunate, Mazarus," Jedda retorted. "If this disease had struck your country a little earlier, the Commonwealth's efforts at liberation would have been futile."

"At any rate, the men of Arlia seem immune," Mazarus said gloomily.

President Hipper, looking uneasy himself, raised his hand to request silence.

"Gentlemen," he said, "in view of Commissioner Jansen's offer of a cease-fire, I vote that the proposal from Director Kievan be read before the Council. As this directly concerns his country, Viceroy Kanoi will retain his voting privileges. Commissioner, please be brief."

Jansen read the Director's missive in a low tone, hesitating over many lines as if choking down his own objections. It was close to abject capitulation as could be expected from a hard man like Kievan, and it was nearly unconditional despite its harsh language. The Varald agreed to cede several disputed villages on the border, and agreed to withdraw all their troops from the front-line, in exchange for the return of all Varald prisoners of war and the use of a Commonwealth border patrol to prevent treaty violations.

Kanoi, clearly pleased, rubbed his hands together and beamed at Jansen. "I never expected such sturdy common sense from a Varaldian," he said, chuckling to himself. "I do not know if the Commonwealth has men to spare, but tell your Kievan that we accept, with one condition."

Jansen frowned. "A condition?"

"We do not wish to be infected by the disease that has overtaken you," Kanoi said smugly. "We request the Commonwealth patrol to screen all people crossing the border for signs of disease, and to prevent any perishable goods from crossing as well, at least until this pandemic is under control."

Jansen glared at him. "Is that your game, Kanoi? Not content with seeing us suffer through disease, you wish to clamp down on trade and attempt to starve us? I can see through you."

"I commend you on your eyesight," Kanoi replied, "but what can you do about it? If you refuse our conditions, we will merely continue with our campaign, and you will be taught a lesson that is long overdue." He laughed.

"For Heaven's sake, Kanoi," Mazarus pleaded. "Have they not suffered enough?"

"Attend to your affairs, you follower of a false Pontiff, and I shall attend to mine," Kanoi said scornfully.

Jansen rose from the table, trying to preserve whatever dignity he still had. "I will inform the Director of your disgraceful offer," he said stiffly. "He will know how to respond."

But he knew – and the others, including Hipper, also knew – that this was a hollow boast. The Zion had his nation by the throat, thanks to this damnable disease, and he would be forced by the Director to yield, even if under protest.

xxx

Winter went, and spring began to make itself felt, leading to a renewal of hostilities between the Zion and Galvenia. Realizing that their position was desperate – and strengthened by reinforcements from the Varald, after a cease-fire was established by Commonwealth Resolution 45 of the year C.Y. 302 – the Zion began to fight back. With a strong frontal attack, they recaptured Ismar, but could go no further, as the Galvenians continued to hold down the entire line from Darington to Victoria. Casualties on both sides began to mount, and the women of Galvenia, including Ryan's mother and the girls at King's College, volunteered for hospital duty.

The Pontiff, after an uneventful journey back to his homeland, was greeted enthusiastically by his people, and began – with his characteristic lack of fuss – to organize relief work for the sick, the wounded, and the hungry. Aided by his non-violent armies of monks and nuns, and by the Commonwealth forces that still remained – fearing a second Zion assault – Itaria slowly began to recover, and the plague remained confined to its coasts, sparing the capital and its dependencies.

In between all this, he somehow found time to indulge his writing talent – he issued a stern Pontifical Letter, _Requiem Aeternam, _in which he offered his prayers for the people of Terra, for an end to the plague, a cease-fire in Galvenia, and for the conversion of the Zion people and "the man who, impudently and blasphemously, continues to call himself Pontiff." Count Hunermann ordered the letter burned, but copies of it were widely circulated in Zion churches that still remained loyal to the Pontiff, and the Zion Territorial Army soon found itself overwhelmed by riots in several villages, especially those close to the Itarian Sea.

But all these things seemed far away at the Royal Hospital for Women and Children in Lorean, half of which had been hastily converted into a military facility. An island of tranquility in the midst of a busy city, it had recently been strengthened by a number of volunteers from King's College, who tended the men, comforted their wives and families, and generally made themselves useful.

"Is she better, Doctor?" Augusta Bradley said. "She didn't sleep too well last night, poor dear."

Doctor Sherman shook his head and looked grave. "This isn't a disease we've seen before, Mrs. Bradley," he replied. "There is inflammation of the brain, and even with high doses of medication, she still has convulsions. I will try my best."

"Please," Augusta pleaded. "Do whatever you can, but please cure Michelle. The doctors at Davenport couldn't do anything for her."

"We will try to drain some fluid from the canal around her brain, to see if we can achieve a clearer diagnosis," Sherman replied. "Please wait outside for a few moments, Mrs. Bradley. It won't hurt her much." He looked with compassion at Michelle, who tossed and turned in her tiny bed, a grimace on her face.

Slowly, Augusta Bradley walked out of the room. Tears in her eyes, she collided with a young woman in a nurse's uniform, who was carrying a tray.

"I'm sorry," she said absently.

"Mrs. Bradley?" The woman looked at her with concern. "What's the matter? Is Terrence wounded?"

"Viola?" Augusta dried her eyes and looked at the girl in front of her. "No, Terrence is all right – though I'm afraid he's leading quite a boisterous life at Checkpoint Alpha," she replied. "It's Michelle. She fell ill two days ago, and the doctors at home were baffled. They asked me to bring her here, but she's not getting better."

"Goodness," Viola said anxiously, "I think I'm on my way to see her, actually. Doctor Sherman wanted a volunteer to help him with the procedure, as the regular nurses are all in the soldier's wing. I do hope she'll be all right."

"Do your best, Viola," Augusta Bradley replied with a sniff, as Viola entered the room.

"Ah, a rookie," Doctor Sherman said, with a laugh. "Are you fond of children, young lady?"

"Yes," Viola replied simply. "Here's the tray that Sister Spence asked me to bring you."

Sherman removed the lid of the tray and examined its contents. "Excellent," he said. "Now, just hold her the way I'm going show you. She's quite drowsy, poor thing, so she won't kick much, but you need to keep her steady."

After a little explanation, Viola held Michelle firmly, curled up into a ball. She cried out feebly as the needle pierced her back, and then was silent. A few minutes later, Sherman withdrew his needle, and Viola quickly dressed the site of the tiny prick.

"What does it say, Doctor?" she asked curiously.

Doctor Sherman remained silent for a few minutes, then looked at the test-tube in which the fluid had collected. "Turbid," he said, tapping it with his finger. "We can try some of that new drug they've just developed at your college, young woman, and pray that it will work. I need to look at this under the microscope, so stay with her for a while, and keep an eye on her vital signs. If anything is out of kilter, call me immediately."

"I will, Doctor," Viola said, as she sat down by Michelle's bedside. "Is it contagious? Not that I'm afraid, but her mother might want to know. I'm a Davenport girl too, so I know them a little."

"Davenport, is it?" Sherman smiled. "Well, Davenport's a port town, and where there are sailors, there are rare diseases. This could just be the bite of a stray bug at the beach or near the docks. I hope that's all it is. Because if it isn't…" He shook his head. "I have friends in the Varald Directorate. I hope this isn't anything of that sort. The symptoms are different, but young children always tend to have different symptoms from adults."

"You mean the plague in the Directorate?" Viola said with alarm.

"Ah, that's what you laymen call it," Sherman said indulgently. "Something of that sort. We don't have a test for it yet, but my microscope can give me some of the answers."

He left the room. Viola checked Michelle's temperature, then frowned. She moistened a towel, placed it on the little girl's forehead, and sat down quietly, waiting.

xxx

Spring had returned in full force – and for the Itarians, it was a spring of hope, despite the many deaths from the plague. Even the most meek and charitable of them could not suppress a laugh on seeing the discomfiture that _Reqiuem Aeternam_ had caused, and the Feast of Saint Geraud – one of the greatest solemnities of the Itarian Church – was being celebrated that day in Saint Hermanus' Plaza.

In King's College, a radio set was being tuned by arthritic, fumbling fingers, and an elderly woman began to breathe rapidly.

Pontiff Pious XXI – looking none the worse for his ordeal, and dressed in full regalia – emerged on the balcony, accompanied by his right-hand men, Diaz and Meissner. After blessing the assembled gathering, he descended the steps of the Castle, and under the ascending sun, celebrated the traditional Liturgy of the Saints. In his sermon, the Pontiff repeated the themes of his now-famous letter, condemning all forms of unjust violence and warfare, and calling on the Zion to seek peace with their neighbours before it was too late. He offered his prayers to those affected by the war and by the growing pandemic that threatened to engulf all of Terra, calling on doctors and nurses to work tirelessly for the welfare of those affected. He called on the Council of Viceroys to repent, to make amends, and to prove themselves worthy of being the descendants of Saint Geraud.

As the liturgy ended, Meissner handed the Pontiff a scroll sealed with a large signet ring – the ring of his predecessor, Augustus VIII. There was silence in the square as the Pontiff, raising his hand, broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.

"My dear brothers and sisters," he said, "this entire war began because – thinking themselves superior to God – the Zion sought to unveil a prophecy whose time has not yet come. Today, after much prayer and penance, I will give the Zion what they thought they wanted – the Prophecy of Saint Geraud, as he appeared to a pair of innocent young children in their very own country. O Zion, listen to the words of your founding father, and mourn, for they will bring you no joy."

In Caledonia, Hunermann and his fellow Viceroys stared at the advanced radio receiver in the Council's conference room – which, like thousands of radios in Zion, was tuned to Radio Itaria – and frowned. Pontiff Maximillian I, wringing his hands, glared at him.

"What is he doing?" he wailed. "Hunermann, this is dangerous."

"He is merely throwing himself on his sword," Hunermann replied. "Trust me."

Unaware of this discussion, the Pontiff went on in a clear, pleasant voice.

"I shall now read the words, as dictated by Mother Anna to her spiritual director, the late Monsignor Alois Loranger. These words were verified by me, your Pontiff, when I was fortunate enough to meet her in Lorean, in the land of Galvenia. She has sworn by the tombs of Saint Geraud and Saint Hermanus that every word is accurate."

In an Army camp at Darington, fresh from a skirmish with the Zion that had ended in a partial victory and a weakening of the Zion hold on Ismar, Sir Prescott and the two officers under him – Ryan and Major Rawley – listened carefully to the radio.

"The words of Saint Geraud, my brothers!" the Pontiff exclaimed. "_Three hundred years after my Commonwealth was born, its unity shall be threatened by the men and women of my own continent. False preachers will emerge, teaching a new religion that had nothing to do with mine. There will be war, famine, pestilence, and wild beasts, and men all over Terra will tremble and call upon their Maker. A false leader will lead many into war. But when three and a half times have passed, he shall be defeated – along with his false prophet and his consort – and return to the depths of hell, where his plan was forged. The apostates shall be struck by a man after my own heart, a man who was hidden until the right moment arrived. His noble bloodline shall prevail. He shall face trials, but he will conquer them. When he has defeated the false leader, the Faith will be restored, and Terra will once again know peace. Justice and mercy shall embrace each other."_ He paused over the last few words, then raised his hands again._ "_That is the prophecy, my friends, and that is the promise. It is what we must hope for. We denounce the false leader Hunermann, his false prophet Maximillian I, and his consort – the puppet monarchy of Zion. Evil shall not triumph."

Deafening roars of cheering and applause greeted this announcement, and many of the crowd burst into hymns of praise.

"The fool," Hunermann said sharply. "He has defeated himself. He little knows that the gun he has loaded is actually pointing at him."

"Are you sure?" Maximillian I said nervously.

"Do not be a fool, Pontiff," Hunermann rebuked him. "Where is your faith? After the euphoria caused by his obscure words has died down, and the Itarians still have to contend with plague and famine, people will see who the true leader and his noble bloodline are. Who can it be, but Emperor Charlemagne of Zion, who grows stronger every day, even as the plague decimates the Varald? And who can the false leader be, except the godless Arlbert of Galvenia? His consort is his queen, of course, and the false prophet is Pious, whom he sheltered."

Maximillian brightened a little. "If that interpretation is true, then – Hunermann, what prevents me from endorsing it? Let me issue a Pontifical Letter of my own, and we shall see if Pious' friends still cheer him!"

"Now you are speaking like a true Pontiff," Hunermann said approvingly. "Do not waste any time. Victory is still in our hands. If the Infinity himself has declared for us, who can oppose Him?"

In the Galvenian camp, however, the message brought neither joy nor sorrow.

"That's all?" Ryan said, looking disappointed. "The Zion went to war over a silly thing like that? I don't get it, Sir."

"By King Richard, Eramond," Sir Prescott replied with a faint smile, "I dare say you are right. It seems to be much ado over theological minutiae. Hardly the sort of thing worth going to war over."

"But then, Eramond," Rawley said quietly, "what _would_ be worth going to war over? Remember the old classic, _Krieg der Gotter_, in which three powerful Gods – symbolizing us, the Zion and the Varald – fought over a simple bow. At heart, every war is either futile or exalted depending on one's point of view."

"A bow?" Ryan laughed. "That sounds like an old acquaintance of mine, Sir. But I'll take the liberty of disagreeing with you. There are some things – and some persons – who are worth fighting for, even if it means battle or war." His expression hardened.

Sir Prescott's eyebrows drew closer together, and he looked at Ryan, surprised by the vehemence of his words. "By the Infinity, Captain," he replied, "today is a strange day, for I find myself agreeing with you not once, but twice. Any more of this, and I will probably become a democrat."

Ryan laughed. "With all due respect, Sir," he quipped, "that seems unlikely to me."

xxx

"It's absurd," Sir Cornelius said, as he looked at the two men in white coats who stood opposite him. "There must be some mistake."

A month had passed since the Pontiff's announcement had taken place. The Zion had reacted quickly with a condemnatory letter from Maximillian, entitled _On the False Prophet and His Lies_, but even the optimistic Hunermann was soon forced to acknowledge that it was too little and too late. The Territorial Army and the police were overwhelmed by frequent local uprisings and riots, and there was even talk of recalling men from the front to quell them, now that the Varald cease-fire was official. Perhaps spurred on by adversity, their army fought harder, and Ismar was still contested, though an attempt to recapture Darington had ended in their being repulsed by the Rough Riders. However, Galvenia was now facing another problem.

"I'm afraid I've checked all the samples several times, and I must thank Sherman for bringing it to my notice, despite my cynicism," Professor Geller of King's College replied, tugging at his beard. He was Galvenia's foremost authority on biology, especially microscopic biology as it related to disease. A cheerful man given to frequent jests about his microscopic specimens, he immensely disliked being the bearer of evil tidings – and especially when the receiver of his message was the Interior Minister of Galvenia.

"It was the strangest thing," Sherman went on, noticing his eminent colleague's unease. "I had just collected a sample of spinal fluid from our first patient – God rest her soul – and went to my lab to examine it. What I found was a simple organism of type _Nympha_, except for one strange thing: it glowed red."

"Don't some organisms give off light naturally?" Sir Cornelius replied slowly. "Fish, insects…I've heard of such things."

"They certainly do – there are even microbes that fluoresce – but this particular type isn't known for that. It's a harmless little thing that grows in the soil, and that has never been known to cause disease. All of us are probably carrying thousands of them on our shoes, Sir Cornelius."

The Interior Minister looked at his shoes with dismay. "You mean _I'm_ infected?" he said sharply.

"Not at all," Geller replied. "Sherman will explain things."

"I thought it was a trick of the light, so I asked the young volunteer with me to look into the microscope – she also saw the red glow, and found it quite unsettling, poor child. Even then, I assumed – as you did, Sir Cornelius – that it was just a freak of nature. But when more cases – especially women and children – started pouring into my wards, I ran further tests. The symptoms were the same in all cases – a high fever, signs of brain inflammation, convulsions, and finally failure of the heart. Some of the patients recovered before this final stage – especially the older children and the hardier women – but out of seventy-nine cases I have seen so far, there have been sixty-six fatalities. Wherever I could obtain a blood or spinal fluid sample, I did. All of them had the same red glow."

"So you're dealing with a new bug which looks like a _Nympha_, whatever that may be," Fairfax said sharply. "Do the usual drugs work against it?"

"That's the strange thing, Sir Cornelius," Geller replied. "As soon as Sherman got wind of this, he badgered me until I suspended my work on the molds of Lorean Glade, and took this up." He smiled. "Now, as you may already know, microbes are fragile things – a wide range of chemicals, including ordinary alcohol, can dispose of them in the lab. But these little rascals are quite different. I tried cyclic carbon derivatives, pure alcohol, even the latest moss secretions – but they had no effect. Intense heat – I went up to two hundred degrees – had some effect, but even that was inconsistent. Electricity slowed them, but only partly. They do not multiply rapidly – they divide at the same speed as ordinary _Nymphae_ – but they are harder to kill than a troop of Rough Riders."

"But – that doesn't make sense," Sir Cornelius said. "You're saying that these creatures cannot be killed by natural means?"

"To cut a long story short, yes," Geller replied. "The critters lead a charmed life. I'm not quite sure they're not tiny Zion mages sent to plague us."

"This is no time for joking!" Sir Cornelius retorted. "How is the disease spread?"

"We have no idea," Sherman admitted. "We've tried infecting animals using wounds, aerosols and skin contact, but they don't fall ill. A direct injection into the bloodstream does work."

"We still need to conclude tests on insects, such as mites, ticks and flies," Geller added. "We are working as fast as we can."

"Institute an immediate policy of isolation and containment, nevertheless," Sir Cornelius said firmly. "Geller, you will be assigned to finding a solution to this sickness, and you can forget about Lorean Glade until you have done so. As for you, Sherman, keep up the good work. This could not have happened at a worse time."

"If the troops are affected…" Sherman began.

"You don't have to tell me that, Sherman," Sir Cornelius replied ruefully. "War and pestilence – that old Pontiff was certainly no liar."

xxx


	18. Chapter 17: Loss

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**  
_**Loss**_

**ROUGH RIDERS**_….The legendary reputation of the Galvenian Rough Riders as an elite assault force has never been dented in the seven hundred years of the country's history, and gained in prestige during the last year of the Terran War. In particular, the Third Battle of Ismar was won largely through their efforts, under the command of Sir Prescott Chuselwock (q.v.)…_

_The post-war monarchy has embellished and expanded on this legend, to the point where the term Rough Rider now carries some of the awe and terror once associated with the Varald Divisions. This, again, can be traced to events that happened immediately before the aforementioned battle…_

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

The room was empty, except for the mirror in front of them. It was a large mirror, and it glowed a deep, rich red.

The man and woman who faced the mirror were, strictly speaking, not in the room, though their figures were standing before it. Their actual bodies were in the security of their own homes, facing smaller mirrors of a similar kind, and trembling with fear and anger. They had been summoned.

"You – you failed us," the man said, stammering with frustration and despair. "You promised us victory. Not a handful of women and children. Not humiliation in battle."

"My lord!" the woman replied, a look of terror on her face. "Do not address our master in this way."

A figure appeared on the large mirror – a bright figure, all brilliant light and white garments.

_I never fail, worm._

"Forgive him, Master," the woman said. "He spoke out of ignorance."

_Do not apologize for him, woman. Have you done all that I have told you?_

"All except for the final vision, Master," she replied. "We will unleash it soon."

_And you, my friend? _The voice was condescending, but it also held an unmistakable threat. _Are you not pleased with what I have done for you?_

"I am, Master," the man said, perspiration dripping down the simulacrum of his face. "I am grateful."

_Very well. Now, when are you going to offer me the final sacrifice?_

"Soon, Master," the man replied. "As soon as my armies are ready for the blow, we will strike them both down."

_You are slow, man. Pitifully slow. And you, woman? Have you and your friends corrupted the son of Aramondrius yet?_

"He has already broken the seal, Master," she replied. "Already, he has learned to enjoy killing for its own sake, to neglect his loved ones, and to see himself as superior. He will soon be your willing tool."

_No thanks to you. You are the ones who have failed me._

"Forgive us, Master," the man pleaded.

_Remember that this is no battle of flesh and blood, you foolish, futile man. Will you wrestle with your God? Do you not know that I have power to damn you for all time?_

"Spare us, Master, I beg you," the woman shrieked.

_Only if you do not fail me. Deliver the last two sacrifices. Bring the son and daughter of darkness together. Once their unholy union is sealed, victory will be ours._

"I promise I shall not fail you," the man replied, and the woman nodded.

_Then leave, and act at once. Men may forgive, but God does not forgive those who insult him._

The man and woman fell to their knees, gibbering, as the mirror slowly lost its glow and grew dark. They were alone.

xxx

Ryan looked at the telegram in front of him, feeling strangely numb. It was a warm summer day, a brief lull in the incessant hostilities between his men and the Zion.

YOUR FATHER SERIOUSLY ILL PLEASE COME IF YOU CAN  
MUM

_Let him die,_ he thought, and immediately suppressed the thought. _Wait a minute – how can I even think a thing like that? He's my father, no matter what he may have done in the past._

_But still – I can't forgive him. Not right now. And if he was dying, Mum would have been a little more frantic than that. He's an Aramondrius, after all. We're tough._

_Still, I ought to send word or something…_

"Eramond!" Major Rawley's crisp tones were commanding, and he stood to attention. "Get your gear. It's a Code Green."

"Code Green?" Ryan exclaimed. A Code Red was a border attack. A Code Blue was a new term the Rough Riders had made up to describe the packs of wild beasts that still plagued them. But a Code Green was a direct attack on either the Government, or the Palace. "How the hell did they reach Lorean?"

"No time for chatter, Captain," Rawley replied nervously. "The Zion have timed their attack well, the devils. They've launched a frontal attack on Victoria, and Sir Prescott has already gone out to tackle it. My men have to hold Ismar and Darington. You're the only one left."

"But how did they cross the border?" Ryan said helplessly. There was only one thought in his mind.

_Carranya. No, please. Not Carranya._

Guilt at having forgotten her, at having allowed the excitement of his campaigns to drive her out of his mind, overwhelmed him.

"It looks like the work of mercenaries, Eramond," Rawley replied. "They attacked the gates yesterday, and Trask's guard repelled them, but they've returned in larger numbers now. They call themselves the War Hawks, and are Zion sympathizers. Trask himself is critically injured. Take your best men, and two divisions of the new recruits, and God speed!"

"I will, Sir," Ryan replied, and began to prepare his men with the speed that came from almost two years at the front. Before they fully realized it, they were marching on Lorean Castle, with as many cannons as they could spare in tow. His father was completely forgotten.

As they drew near, they cut across the troops and police officers guarding the city streets, and as Ryan – at the front of his forces – approached the bridge to Lorean Castle, he noted, to his horror, that smoke was rising from its turrets.

_Please,_ he said, praying to no one in particular. _Please, let me not be too late…._

_xxx_

"It's an alert, Viola," Doctor Sherman said, his coat-tails fluttering as he peeked into the entrance of the children's ward. "Stay inside the ward, and don't go outside until they tell us we can."

"What happened, Doctor?" Viola gasped.

"Some fools calling themselves 'War Hawks' have attacked the Palace, and Officer Trask has ordered the streets sealed to prevent their escape. Some of them might seek refuge in a hospital…."

He had no chance to complete his sentence, as he was stunned by a blow to the back of his head. A man, wearing the black suit of a priest, entered the room, carrying a heavy cudgel.

"Don't move, girl," he said. "You're all dead. All of you."

"Never!" Viola cried. "Children, come with me!"

The three children in the ward – two of whom could hardly walk – began to crawl out of their beds. Frantically, as the man began to gain on them, she dragged them into Doctor Sherman's small laboratory and bolted the door.

"Hide behind me," she said frantically, as the children huddled in a corner, whimpering.

"You can't escape," the man growled. To her horror, the door caught fire, and began to burn slowly, though the flames spared the rest of the room.

"I want those samples," the man screamed. "I'll take them even if it means your death. And those children can join you."

"No…" Viola said, helplessly, as he emerged through the ring of flame, seemingly untouched by it. "Daddy…..Henrik, save me! Please!"

The man drew a knife and laughed. "It's more enjoyable this way," he said, and slashed forward, cutting Viola's cheek. She began to bleed, but still tried to shield the children, cowering in a corner.

He raised the blade – and then collapsed, as the sound of three gunshots echoed in the tiny room. A glass beaker broke, and Viola screamed. The intruder lay bleeding at her feet.

Three men rushed into the room.

"Good work getting here so soon, soldier," the first of them said. "Tamas, throw this scum out. Soldier boy and I will clean out the room."

"Thank the Head Honcho up above that Trask warned us," Armin Tamas said, lowering his gun and handcuffing the man, who was still alive, then chaining him to one of the cots. Next to him and the other man was Henrik, the tip of his rifle still smoking.

"Henrik!" Viola cried out, and rushed towards him, shaking with fear. He caught hold of her as she swayed, helped her to a seat, and examined the wound on her cheek.

"Shh, it's all right," he murmured, kneeling in front of her. "We heard that the War Hawks – they're mercenaries in the pay of the Zion, it seems – wanted to attack this place and steal your samples, so Ryan sent some of us here. It's over. And it's just a scratch. I'm here. You'll be all right."

"Thank you – oh, thank you, Henrik," Viola said brokenly.

"The sample's ruined, though," Armin said ruefully. "Viola must have bled into it when that dude slashed at her." He held up a circular glass dish, which contained a smooth, waxy substance that was now stained with blood. "At least they can't have it."

Viola looked at the sample, then caught her breath. "It – it's not glowing any more," she said.

"Is it supposed to?" Armin said curiously. "I didn't know bugs had electricity!"

"Yes, these microbes have a curious property of glowing red," she said softly. "I – I don't understand."

"Leave it to the good doc," Armin said kindly, as Henrik and the other agent helped Doctor Sherman rise to his feet. "Meanwhile, I'll put the little ankle-biters back in bed!"

Picking up the children, Armin entertained them with a rather remarkable array of monkey-faces and replaced them in their cots, then tucked them in.

"You'll make a fine father someday, Armin," Henrik teased him.

"Very funny, Spenson," Armin shot back. "Hey, doc, sorry we ruined your sample, okay? Though technically it wasn't us, it was this 'War Hawk' jackass here."

"Ruined my sample?" Sherman said, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"Here, have a look," Armin replied, taking the small dish from Viola and showing it to him. Sherman's eyes widened, and he nearly fainted a second time.

"Sweet Infinity!" he exclaimed. "You mean all it takes is a little blood? It can't be that simple. I mean, that's not how science works. This plague has baffled the best minds in Galvenia, and now you're telling me that there's something in an ordinary young girl's blood that works where heat, alcohol and electricity have failed? What next, apple pie?"

"Actually", Henrik said, as he walked towards the doctor, supporting Viola and holding a compress to her cheek, "'ordinary' may not be the right word here, Doctor. I have a little idea."

xxx

The War Hawks – as they called themselves – were numerous and fought brutally, but they were no match for Ryan's trained men and their weapons. After a short, sharp skirmish that lasted hardly an hour, he led his troops into Lorean Castle.

"Sean," Ryan called out to Sergeant Wilson, "take the twenty men with you and look around the lower floor. My intuition is that these animals are targeting the King and the Queen."

"Roger, Ryan," Sean Wilson replied, as he and his men began cordoning off the Ministerial quarters. They encountered only token resistance, and neither Sheffield nor his cabinet had suffered any harm, for they had locked themselves in the secure room as soon as the alarm had been raised. Only three guards were wounded, and Wilson began to move them out.

Ryan, in the meantime, led his men up the stairs into the Palace, his heart pounding.

_Carranya – please, Carranya, be all right. Please._

As he went past the quarters of the Royal Servants, they came upon several of the War Hawks in the Chamberlain's room looting with abandon. The bodies of guards and menservants lay on the floor, bleeding.

"Take this trash out!" Ryan said angrily, drawing his sword and snarling. A wave of red light shot forth from his sword, and three of the men before him dropped dead, while the others, stunned and terrified, were easily overpowered by his troops.

"What is that weapon, Eramond?" a voice suddenly called out. Ryan, surprised, turned back to see Juno, in his private's uniform, looking at him suspiciously.

"Juno? What the hell are you doing here?" Ryan said irritably.

"Serving my country, Eramond, just as you ought to," he replied. "Once again, I ask you: what is that weapon? Who authorized you to use it?"

Ryan looked at Juno with anger, and before the latter could react, he lunged forward with his sword. Juno fell to the ground, twitching.

"Captain," one of the soldiers said nervously, "what's going on?"

"That man's a traitor," Ryan replied calmly. "Detain him with the rest of the Hawk survivors."

"A traitor?" a burly private said angrily. "Off to the brig with him!"

With one contemptuous look at the fallen Juno, Ryan led the rest of his men up to the Royal Family's quarters themselves, looking at the blood-stained trail of the War Hawks with mounting despair, hoping against hope.

"You villains!" King Arlbert shouted, his voice filling the entire Throne Room. "Have you no love for your country? Are you not Galvenians?"

Queen Katarina, pale-faced and silent, crouched in a corner of the room, with the Princess standing resolutely in front of her.

"We do not serve you, false leader," the man at the head of the troop of mercenaries replied coldly. He was wearing a silver and black uniform, and like his thirty comrades, his armour carried the stylized image of a bird of prey. "We denounce you" – he pointed his gun at the King – "your consort" – he pointed it at the terrified Queen – "and your false prophet."

"My daughter is not a false prophet!" Arlbert roared.

"I do not mean your daughter," the man replied. "I mean _him_." He pointed at Father Eugene Thomssen, who had been seized by two of his men and was almost in tears.

"This is treason!" Thomssen moaned. "You swore loyalty to me, Jakovites! You were _my_ men!"

"The War Hawks belong to no one, Your Reverence," the first man replied. "And we have learned things about you that fill us with the utmost revulsion, you disgusting little beast. Would you like the King and Queen to hear some of them, before we kill you slowly?"

"Mercy!" Thomssen wailed. "Please, spare me!"

"We will dispose of you in order of importance," the man said. "First, the false leader." He fired, and Arlbert collapsed to the ground, clenching his teeth. Carranya let out a cry, and rushed to his side.

"Father!" she sobbed, cradling his head. "Father, are you…."

"Weep not for me, my little child," Arlbert said, his expression softening. "Galvenia shall never be conquered. You shall rule in my stead…"

Carranya turned around in a flash, raised her hands, and a beam of brilliant light struck the Hawk commander. However, he seemed unconcerned, and stepped back."

"Ah, you fight bravely, child," he replied. "But the War Hawks have no quarrel with you. Next, the consort."

He raised his gun again and fired. Queen Katarina fell, a dark stain appearing on the side of her royal robes, and as she struck the ground, the door fell open, with a sound like a thunderclap. The room was filled with a strong wind, and the Hawk commander found himself knocked to his knees.

"Treason!" he shouted. "We have been betrayed!"

"Correction, you swine," Ryan replied, drawing his pistol and firing at him several times, watching him jerk and shudder with each shot. "You have been defeated."

Stunned, the War Hawks tried to rally, but Ryan's men quickly overpowered most of them. In a very short time, they were overpowered, and most of them lay dead.

"Your Majesty!" Ryan exclaimed, running to the Queen's side. "C – Princess, what happened?"

"It was horrible, Ryan…" Carranya said, weeping. "They killed Father – and they – Oh, Mother, no…."

"Get them to the surgeon, quick!" Ryan ordered his men, and stretchers were quickly produced. The Queen was quickly evacuated, while Carranya, white-faced, stood by Ryan, unable to move and leaning on him for support.

"Who's this guy?" one of the privates said, catching hold of Thomssen, who was lying in a corner, blood on his lips.

Ryan looked at the priest, and then looked at Carranya's terrified expression. His hand wavered on his sword.

_If you kill him, my son,_ _you will be doing him a service._

_What on Terra?_ Ryan thought. The voice was of an older man, calm and authoritative.

"Take him to the medics as well," he said. "We'll question him later."

"Ryan," Carranya sobbed, "take me to Mother. Please, let me be with her."

"As you wish, Carrie," Ryan said tenderly, as he took her by the hand and led her behind the stretcher that carried the unconscious Queen. "Clear up in here, boys. I think we're done for now."

xxx

"Mr. Evens?" Lavie knocked at the door, then pushed it open. "Mr. Evens, it's me, Lavie! I got your wire and came around at once, and Carmen sent some of her cookies along!"

As she looked past the door and into the office of Mann Island Archery Academy's Headmaster, her parcel fell from her hands, and she stared in shock at the sight before her.

Joshua Evens was sitting behind his desk, but the room had been ransacked, and a large arrow stuck out of his shirtfront. The gaily embroidered cloth on the tabletop was caught between his hands, as he tugged at it helplessly.

"Mr. Evens!" Lavie rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse. "Wh – what happened?"

"Lavie…" Joshua Evens smiled. "At least I get to see my favourite pupil before….I die….."

"Mr. Evens," Lavie said, shaking her head in dismay and confusion. "Wait here, I'll get help!"

"No, Lavie…" Joshua Evens replied. "Take this…"

Gathering the last of his strength, he pointed to a decorative quiver that stood on the wall behind him. "Papers….in there….take them and hide them, Lavie. Don't keep…..dangerous. Mustn't…..Thomssen…Lugner…..lady…mustn't get them…..don't tell…..anyone…."

"Thompson?" Lavie said, choking down a sob. "Mr. Evens, what's going on?"

"Proud….of you, Lavie…" A half-smile tugged at one corner of the Headmaster's mouth, and he slumped down in his chair.

In a daze, Lavie reached inside the quiver, and drew out three arrows, around which sheets of paper were rolled. Quickly, she took them and placed them in a pocket of her hunting jacket…

"Stop right there!"

Lavie froze, then turned around.

"Lieutenant Huntington? And Captain Reckland?" She relaxed, then shook her head. "What's going on?"

"You need to get back to Davenport right away," Huntington said. "A group of renegades, known as War Hawks, have just attacked the Palace, and we've received intelligence that they may attack Mann Island. We received orders to evacuate all civilians from here."

"Sweet Infinity, what happened?" Reckland said, looking at the late Joshua Evens. "That's – terrible. Did you find him, Miss Regale?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. Reckland escorted her out of the room, while Huntington made a call on his portable radio.

"My men will take him back to Davenport," he said, after a few minutes. "Now, Miss, you'll need to come with us."

_I need to hide those papers! _Lavie thought. _But how? Yes, that's it!_

"Captain Reckland," she said suddenly, "can I just pay my respects at Gran's grave? I'll be back soon."

"They won't reach for another two hours at least," Huntington replied, examining his watch. "How far is it?"

"About fifteen minutes," Reckland replied. "I'll come with you."

Lavie frowned, and Reckland sensed her hesitation. "It's just for your safety – and besides, I need to look and see if there are any young folks in the woods, and evacuate them too. I'll wait for you near the path leading to her cottage, and if you need me, just call."

Lavie smiled. "Thank you so much, Captain," she replied. "That's very kind of you."

"Just doing my job," Reckland replied. "Our ships are arriving from Serin's Peak to defend the island now, which is why you need to get out soon."

"But where are these 'War Hawks' coming from?" Lavie said, fear in her eyes.

"It's a long story," Reckland replied. "Come, let's get going, so that we can leave as soon as possible."

A short walk later, Lavie knelt down at her grandmother's grave.

_Gran, _she said, _I know you're watching. Thank you for all that you ever did for me. I hope I've chosen my hiding place wisely, and that I can come back and get it later. I don't know what it all means, but I'll try to do what's right. I love you, Gran._

It seemed to Lavie that she heard her grandmother's familiar voice in reply, carried on the summer breeze, and she smiled.

_No one will find it there! Except Ryan, perhaps._

Standing up, she returned to the path, where the Captain was waiting quietly for her.

xxx

Far away, in the woods that separated the Galvenian stronghold at Ismar from the large Zion town of Jashin, where their forces had mustered in large numbers, the battle raged.

Sir Prescott's men were pushed back several times, only to return in one raid after another. Though the Zion forces were numerous, the Rough Riders had the edge on them in terms of strategy, and they soon suffered ruinous losses.

Scenting a defeat that would literally mean the end of the war for them – for Jashin was not too far from Caledonia – the Zion lined up their cannon _en masse_, bringing them back from the line at Victoria, and began to fire desperately.

However, Sir Prescott then switched flanks, using Rawley and his men to break the supply and transport line between Victoria and Ismar. This was dangerous, for the Zion were simultaneously attempting to recapture Victoria, but it worked. The Zion force was split into three islands, and the remaining divisions, under Sir Prescott, overwhelmed them. Though they frantically tried to regroup, one of the divisions pushed forward directly into Jashin, capturing some of the cannons and turning them upon their owners.

Sir Prescott, leading from the front, watched the Galvenian flag rise over Jashin, and watched the returning forces from Lorean return to take control of the Darington-Victoria road, when he was thrown to the ground by a stray grenade, fired in spite as part of a suicidal attack by Zion forces fleeing the city.

"Sir Prescott!" Rawley exclaimed. "Sir, are you…."

"Take me back to the camp, Rawley," Prescott said, with a smile. "I'm afraid it's….serious." He was breathing with difficulty, and when he coughed, blood came to his lips.

"No," Rawley said, his eyes widening in horror, and his grip on his sword loosening. Sir Prescott _was_ the Rough Riders. To think of him as being in danger was impossible to him.

"Lead the rest of the men in, Rawley…." he said calmly. "And don't weep…..We are soldiers, and we are Rough Riders."

He closed his eyes, and several of his men carried him away on a stretcher. The atmosphere on the battlefield was funereal despite the fact that, barring a series of acts of God, the war against the Zion was essentially won.

xxx

When the smoke had cleared, certain facts were now clearly and painfully visible.

The Zion had been pushed back almost to the five towns known as the Dependencies of Caledonia. If one of them were captured, the Galvenian Army would have a direct route into the Capital. Hunermann, looking at what seemed to be the wreckage of his hopes, cursed and swore, and Maximillian I was a shadow of his former self. Charlemagne made a further public appearance, looking more vigorous and swearing revenge on the Galvenians, but his words had little effect on them.

The "War Hawks" – or at least those who were captured – provided little information to their captors, despite Doctor Roper's best efforts and the Intelligence Service's most ominous threats. Whether they were connected to the group that had taken Chespa Bay was unclear, and no one seemed able to trace their antecedents.

King Arlbert of Galvenia was dead. Queen Katarina, recovering from her injuries, was a pale shell of her already shell-like self, and Parliament was deadlocked on when to publicly announce the ascent to the throne of Princess Carranya, the only heir presumptive.

Sir Prescott's wounds were grave, and though the surgeons at Lorean had done their best for him, he was living on borrowed time.

The attack on Mann Island was foiled, and after several days of watchful waiting, its bewildered inhabitants were returned to their homes from the temporary shelters at Davenport.

Ryan and his forces, after having repelled the attack on the Palace, though there was much mourning and prayer for Sir Prescott. A shaken Hunermann had contacted Prime Minister Sheffield, and it was rumoured that a cease-fire was imminent.

In the Palace, where she and Lady Rochelle had been keeping a near-constant vigil at her mother's bedside, Princess Carranya was only dimly aware of most of these things. Her heart was heavy, and she wished with all her heart that her mother would recover, and that Ryan would somehow return.

"Carranya," Lady Rochelle said, coming out of her mother's room and looking grave, "your mother wishes to speak to you. She says it is a matter of great urgency."

Without a word, Carranya took her companion's hand and entered her mother's room, sitting at her bedside.

"Mother, I am here," she said simply.

"Rochelle, leave us," Queen Katarina said feebly. "I wish to speak to my daughter alone."

Lady Anton nodded, then left the room quietly.

"Carranya," the Queen said softly. "A great responsibility lies on your shoulders, and I do not know if you realize it. But it is better that you face it than your poor father. May his soul rest in peace."

"Tell me what it is, Mother, and I shall do my best," Carranya said earnestly.

"First of all, my child, I must ask for your forgiveness," the Queen replied with a sweet smile, one quite unlike her usual sour expression. "I know that I have often been stern with you, and it is partly my fault that you sought to break those shackles. I can only offer you one justification – that I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Carranya shook her head.

"Afraid that you would follow your father's path, my daughter," the Queen replied. "I now see that I was wrong. Even in the midst of trials, you remained virtuous. And it is on your account that God has blessed me."

"There is no need to apologize, Mother," Carranya said gently. "But what is this blessing you speak of?"

"Last night, my child, after you sang me to sleep and left the room, I saw a vision – it was not a dream, for I was awake. I saw a distant figure on a throne, with our glorious ancestor, King Richard Lionheart, kneeling at his feet. A voice came forth from the throne, telling me that I would be blessed in my daughter, and healed of my wounds. But the voice also asked me to instruct you thus: That you marry the Duke of Marksmith at the earliest, as it would be through this union that the Kingdom would be restored, and would triumph over the Zion. We must not delay, Carranya. God cannot be defied."

Carranya bowed her head and closed her eyes, a wistful smile on her lips as she thought of the only man she would ever truly want to marry. "I understand, Mother," she said. "I will do as you say."

xxx

In a house in Davenport, a similar scene, though of a more melancholy nature, was playing out. A frantic telegram from Sheila Eramond to Lorean, accompanied by a carriage kindly provided by the Regales, meant that Ryan, much against his will,

"Ryan," Theodore Eramond said, lying in bed and looking at his son in his Captain's uniform, "how proud I am – but I have no right to say this. I'm sorry, Ryan."

"You – you know that I know, right?" Ryan said, looking at him with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"It's not what you think, Ryan," Theodore said, clutching at his chest. "Sheila, please wait outside. I have to speak to my boy."

Sheila looked at her son sadly, then left. "Come closer, Ryan," Theodore said. "I know Sigmund's offered me a doctor from Lorean, but my time has come."

"Dad…" Ryan began. Moving slowly, he sat down stiffly in the chair that his mother had just vacated. His father began to speak, quickly and softly, as if trying to tell his story before death overtook him.

"You know I tried, and failed, to join the Commonwealth Special Forces," Theodore said heavily, shaking his head. "Though Father was sympathetic, I could tell that he was disappointed. I travelled to Alton to work as an apprentice accountant there, and I found a job with a dealer in magical goods. His name was Janus Albrut."

"I was lonely, and Janus' daughter, Linda, was perhaps my only friend in those gloomy months. Father was opposed to our friendship for some reason, but I – I fell in love, Ryan. Try to understand. Sometimes, these things can't be helped."

"I know what you mean," Ryan replied kindly, thinking of Marianne.

"When I told Father of our plans to marry, he threatened to disinherit me. It was at that time that I made the acquaintance of Sigmund Regale, Lavie's father, and of Colin Erasmus, a young Conservative party worker at Alton. Theywere sympathetic, and Linda and I were married in secret. I led a double life – spending my summers in Alton, and my winters building up my own little business in Davenport. I would do Sigmund, and some of his noble friends, favours – delivering goods that were less than legal – but I was happy, Ryan. Not quietly happy, as I was with Sheila, but – almost intoxicated. We had a son, Jacob. Life was good."

He closed his eyes, a tear suddenly running down one cheek. "Then it happened. Linda was expecting our second child, and she was having a hard time of it. On the day when she was about to give birth, Father fell ill. I was torn, Ryan. But I was also a coward. I asked Colin to fetch a doctor, and I rushed to Davenport to see to Father. He recovered, but by the time I could return to Alton, two days later, my second son, Jason, was born, and Linda – was dead." He sighed. "Her father and I buried her quietly in Alton, and I left the boys with him. It wasn't the right thing to do – Janus was hardly a good example, and even Linda suspected him of dealing in cursed goods and illegal articles – but then I'm hardly a beacon of morality either." He smiled wryly.

"Dad…" Ryan said, shaking his head.

"Unfortunately, by then I'd met your mother, and Father was strongly in favour of the match. It would have been perfect – you know your mother, Ryan, and she's always been a good wife to me – except for my children. I caved. I asked Colin and Sigmund to help me, and they contacted a priest in Lorean, who took the boys into a Church home. I married Sheila, and I had you. Eramond Delivery Services prospered. Things were looking up once more."

"But someone up there clearly didn't like me. My sons, who were now in a boarding school, had begun to associate with their grandfather again, and fell foul of the law. I often had to bail them out of trouble, and my purse was hit hard They were involved in all sorts of dubious things – black market trade, espionage, and even a spot of banditry. I asked Sigmund to help me, but he was reluctant. Finally, in despair, I turned to the priest in Lorean, and he put me in touch with a group of nobles at Lorean. They offered me a deal: they would pay off my sons and ask them to leave the country, if I'd do them a favour and help them pass an illegal parcel to Zion."

"Unfortunately, something went wrong. Some damn fool Territorial Army soldiers, trying to be heroes, interfered with the scheme. Though I did keep up my end of the deal, our secrecy was compromised, and my noble friends were displeased, and kept the boys hanging over my head like a sword. I've had to do them – ahem – favours from time to time. And now, those two rascals are on the loose, involved in God knows what devilish schemes."

His breathing grew shallow, and his lips turned blue. His voice grew louder, and his tone now suggested panic.

"There is more, but – Ryan – No! Ryan, please – please…" His hands went to his chest once more, and he writhed in pain. "Ryan – forgive me…."

He shuddered, then lay still. Sheila, alerted by his cries, came running in.

"What happened?" she said, though she knew the answer to her question as soon as she saw Theodore lying still.

"He's gone," Ryan said simply.

"Theo!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Theo – oh, no…."

With one last look at the remains of his father, Ryan turned on his heel and left.

xxx


	19. Chapter 18: Succession

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**  
_**Succession**_

**CHAOS…. **_In mathematics, chaos refers to systems – often mirroring those seen in the real world, such as fluid flow and the weather – characterized by indeterminacy, non-periodicity, and a tendency for the amplification of small changes. Such systems can be constructed from fairly simple equations…_

_In cosmology, chaos refers to the speculation that, following the initial "moment of creation", matter and energy existed in an amorphous state, and that what we call the "laws of nature" emerged in an unpredictable way as non-deterministic consequences of this original state. This view has been much criticized both by theists and by physicists, because it postulates a time when no laws of nature applied._

_In theology, the term is used to refer to a personal philosophy similar to consequentialism ("the ends justify the means"), but more specifically, to a code of conduct that uses consequential behaviour only when dealing with a perceived evil. Thus a man who assassinates a ruler to assume political power is a "pure" consequentialist; a man who assassinates because the ruler is committing grave evils is a Follower of Chaos. This term gained popularity in the wake of the tragic events that followed the death of King Arlbert of Galvenia (q.v.)…._

_- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

It was during the lull that ensued – during which many of the common people of Zion seriously began, for the first time, to doubt their rulers – that the War Hawks struck again.

At first, the Commonwealth fleet guarding Unity Island did not see them coming. They arrived on small boats, evading the fire of their larger adversaries, and landed on the beach, then attacked several residential and commercial facilities along the coastline.

President Hipper, caught unawares, began to mobilize his troops, which were already reduced by the deployments in Itaria and the Varald Directorate. The attack was repulsed, but only with difficulty, and by the time it was, two trading posts were bombed, and over fifty people had lost their lives.

As repair work began, the President received a mysterious telegram claiming responsibility for the attacks:

PRESIDENT HIPPER  
YOUR DAYS AS FALSE LEADER ARE NUMBERED  
A RIGHTEOUS RULER SHALL ARISE  
THE WAR HAWKS SHALL SERVE HIM

"Gentlemen," he said, reading out this message at an emergency meeting of the entire Senate and Executive Council, "this is a grave matter indeed. We do not know if these 'War Hawks' are followers of Almonth Jakov, the murderer of Chespa Bay, or if they are a different group. But they exist, if the recent events here and in Galvenia are not merely our imagination" – he shook his head – "and they must be countered at all costs."

Kanoi, whose voting privileges had been restored following the peace of Itaria, smiled and shook his head. "Counter them yourself, Mr. President," he said. "The Emperor Charlemagne, whose recovery has amazed every doctor in Zion, has authorized me to inform you that, until we receive a formal apology and a removal of CSF troops from the Varald border, no man of Zion shall serve your Special Forces."

Hipper flinched, but did not respond directly. "What do the rest of you have to say, venerable colleagues?"

"These 'War Hawks' have already done too much damage in Fulton, if they are the ones who bombed your trading posts there," Jedda replied firmly. "Premier Josen informs me that as long as the Commonwealth, which is the bloodline of trade on Terra, is in danger, you can count upon our forces."

"And ours," Lucan replied, "or at least as many as we can spare at the moment." He frowned at Kanoi, who smiled back.

"We will spare what we can," Jansen said. He had been in mourning ever since the plague had claimed half his family, and his long black coat made him resemble a mortician.

"Though we have no men, we can support you materially," Archbishop Mazarus added.

Hipper smiled ironically. He realized that, through a mysterious concatenation of circumstances, his forces were severely decimated – by the Itarian invasion, the Zion-Galvenia war and the Varald plague – and that he could not count on a heroic defence as his predecessor, Drake, had done at Chespa Bay.

xxx

Summer was unnaturally warm in Galvenia that year. The War Hawks continued to make frequent swift raids on the Commonwealth, and on its outposts in Varaldia and Fulton. The Zion stood firm, resisting any further incursions from the Galvenians, though they were unable to recapture any of their territories. By an Act of Parliament, Prime Minister Sheffield announced that Queen Carranya had officially ascended to the throne, and that her coronation would take place shortly.

In the meantime, Sir Prescott languished in hospital. Though the surgeons of Lorean had done their best for him, his recovery was beset by complications. Though thousands of well-wishers across his country prayed for him, and many of them actually visited him in hospital, he took a decided turn for the worse.

"It's terrible," Lady Rochelle told Katarina, now the Queen Mother, as she and several other noble women, accompanied by General Freeman, returned from his bedside that day. "They say they can't do anything for him, even though they've just found a cure for that dreadful brain fever. It's a shame."

That day, Ryan – now back at Darington, and temporarily next-in-command to Major Rawley – received an urgent summons to the Military Hospital at Lorean: a summons from Sir Prescott. Perplexed, he hastened to obey, hoping that he would perhaps catch a glimpse of Carranya – further away from him than ever, now that she was Queen.

He found Prescott in a sadly diminished state, pale and emaciated. However, the fire that had made him such a respected leader still burned in his eyes. With an impatient gesture, he dismissed the nurse, and beckoned to Ryan to come closer.

"Eramond," he said, the tone of command still clear in his voice, though it was a low whisper. "This is a strange place in which to pass the torch, but it must be done."

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"Listen carefully, boy," Sir Prescott said, motioning to him to come closer. "I am dying, and a dying man has to face facts. Rawley is a wonderful man, but he lacks the streak of ruthlessness to crush actual human evil – the sort of evil that we face, the evil that drives the Zion and their new friends the War Hawks. You, Eramond, still have much to learn, but you are the best we have." He smiled wryly. "By virtue of my position as Commander of the Rough Riders, I appoint you as my successor. You will find a scroll in that desk – I wrote it when I realized that my time had come."

"Sir…" Ryan began, surprised beyond his wildest dreams. "It's a great honour…"

"Save your breath, Eramond, and _listen._ The events of these past two years are no accident. Five of us sought the truth – Socius, Trask, Fairfax, Sheffield and I. Socius is no more. Trask is in this hospital, dangerously ill. Fairfax is still following leads, and he may be in danger. Sheffield looked the other way, as becoming Prime Minister meant more to him than the truth. And I – I die acclaimed, but unfulfilled. Do not let our deaths be in vain, boy."

Ryan bowed his head. "What must I do?"

"It is entirely possible that they may send you to the Commonwealth," Sir Prescott whispered. "It is part of their plan. Do not oppose them. Never give up….never surrender….you are now a Rough Rider, Eramond. Do this – if not for my sake – then for her."

"Her?"

Ryan opened his mouth to speak further, then closed it. A look of understanding passed between the two men, and Prescott smiled sadly. "Do not commiserate, Eramond," he said. "I cannot bear that. But I know her well enough, and have heard enough, to realize that you stand in the place where I once stood – and she is a fine judge of character. If you ever do have the chance, Eramond, do everything you can for her. She deserves it, after the way we have all failed her. For my sake, Eramond. Be kind to her."

"I will, Sir," Ryan said fervently.

"Above all, keep her from the machinations of a certain individual," he said, his breathing growing labored. "I will tell you whom." He whispered a few words into Ryan's ear, but Ryan only responded with a blank stare.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Patience, boy," Sir Prescott said feebly. "That person is in league with the Zion and their leader. But that person also has a weak ally, from whom you can obtain useful information. Hunermann, the War Hawks, Maximillian – are all puppets. Those two….hold the power…." He coughed, and his face grew livid.

"Sir!" Ryan exclaimed.

"Goodbye, Eramond, and good fortune…." Sir Prescott said. He raised one hand, as if brandishing an illusory sword, and then fell back upon his pillows, his eyes closed.

Ryan ran quickly to fetch the nurse, but it was too late.

_What was he trying to tell me? _he wondered, as he stood vigil near his commander's bedside, waiting for the doctors to come. _Surely a random noble can't be at the heart of it all. There must be some other meaning._

_Carranya. She would know._

_If only I could see her again. Just for a few moments…._

_xxx_

The day Sir Prescott died, an emergency meeting of the Fletcher Council was convened – at the bedside of Sigmund Regale.

"I apologize for being in such a sorry condition," Sigmund replied, raising himself up against the pillows. "Unfortunately, I could not leave well alone – and having to work with Sheffield and Fairfax did not ease things."

"The brewing industry was always your worst enemy, Sigmund, except for yourself," Jeffrey Tolbruk observed, with a laugh. "Now, before you go the way of Sir Prescott…"

"Oh, I don't intend to do that so soon, Jeffrey," Sigmund said grimly. "But we need to act fast, gentlemen. Ever since my return to Galvenia, the Fletcher Council has been aiding the war effort in two ways: by importing minerals and other materials from Fulton and the Varald Directorate, and by using our resources to provide a parallel intelligence service. Sheffield did not trust his own Chief of Covert Operations, and felt he was dealing with the enemy."

"Thomssen?" Ellesimar Vryce grimaced. "He's a disgusting individual. I've heard stories from a girl in Trinden that he arrested her on false pretenses, and performed illegal experiments on her. Unfortunately, when I took the matter up with the authorities, no one wanted anything to do with it except old Lancaster, who was retired."

"We now have enough proof that he is dealing with the Zion," Alex Robertson replied, "thanks to my many colleagues who added espionage to their private investigation skills. I was personally due to receive a report from my friend Evens, on Mann Island, but it looks like Thomssen's men got to him first."

"It's a pity that we don't know what was in that report," Sigmund said irritably. "And it's even more of a pity that my daughter was the one to find him. If it had been you, Alex, we might have gotten something useful out of him, at least a hint."

"Was he already dead when the girl found him?" Simeon Wright asked. "Perhaps she might have heard something."

"Lavie and I aren't exactly on talking terms, especially since I – broke my pledge," Sigmund said apologetically.

"That is a pity," Vryce said. "As my father always said, 'Simar, love the bottle, but let it be your second love. never abandon your family for it.'" He chuckled.

"We now know that Thomssen is dangerous, and yet, he continues to be at the right hand of the Queen – I mean the Queen Mother," Tolbruk corrected himself. "And with Arlbert gone, I'm sure Carranya will be under their thumbs, even when she is crowned."

"Not to forget the marriage to Marksmith," Sigmund added. "A toy noble. It is clear that Carranya will be a puppet ruler, and that the traitor Thomssen might induce them to make peace with the Zion."

"Still, is that so bad? It would mean the end of Sheffield's regime, but we could easily make our peace with the new rulers, and trade with the Zion would improve," Wright remarked. "Of course, it would mean dealing with sanctimonious slimes like Thomssen and his cultish 'Church of Galvenia'. Have you seen his latest insanity?" He held up a newspaper. "Geller of King's College has found a cure for the brain fever that took so many of our children, using ingredients drawn from certain types of human blood. Instead of rejoicing, Thomssen has accused him of 'profaning human life' and 'refusing to accept the Infinity's will'."

"Fool," Sigmund said wearily. "Of course, you were in negotiations with Geller to purchase the patent for that drug, weren't you, Wright?"

Wright laughed. "How well you know me, Sigmund. Now, let's have a decision. Whether by design or fate, those who have been on Thomssen's trail seems to come to a sticky end. Socius and Prescott are dead. Trask is in a coma and may never speak again. You're a sick man. Should we just assume that his Infinity is protecting him, and stop trying to help Sheffield? Let's put this to the vote."

"I say we call it a day," Tolbruk said forcefully. "We want a resumption of trade; peace with the Zion does not impede that, and may aid it."

"I'm against it," Vryce replied. "There is something sinister afoot. Look at the Commonwealth. The end result of the Zion's three wars has been to weaken it – its forces have their hands full in Itaria and Varaldia, and if we agree to a cease-fire, the rest of them will go to Zion. That will leave Unity Island an easy prey to these "War Hawks", whoever the devils are."

"Oh, don't be conspiratorial, Vryce," Wright said impatiently. "Do you seriously believe that the Zion and the War Hawks are connected? There have been Hawk strikes at Commonwealth installations on Zion soil as well; they have claimed responsibility for them."

"Young man," Vryce replied, from the height of his seventy years, "I am old enough to remember Chespa Bay, and the mysterious way that Jakov beat a retreat after being defeated. Do not underestimate his followers, if that is what these Hawks are."

"I agree with Wright, Vryce," Tolbruk said placatingly. "Let's not be alarmist. The Commonwealth are big boys, and they can look after themselves. They are not our concern."

"Your views, Sigmund?" Wright said.

"Gentlemen," Sigmund Regale said, sitting upright and looking evenly at his colleagues, while the imperturbable Robertson took notes, "let me not mince words. The Fletcher Council exists for two purposes: to ensure profits for us, and to safeguard Galvenia's interests insofar as they coincide with ours. Normally speaking, espionage is not part of our work, and we have agreed to it only because Sheffield used a trumped-up charge to blackmail me."

"Therefore, Wright and Tolbruk speak sensibly, and in accordance with the spirit of the Council, when they advise us not to interfere. As Tolbruk said, the Zion may be more useful as trading partners than as enemies, and a cease-fire at this point would make this more likely to occur."

"However.." Sigmund paused, and looked at the four men before him sternly, then raised his voice. "Being ill, and being away from home, has made me think seriously about several things. While I do not agree with all that Vryce says, I do agree that the troubles of Terra also concern us. Perhaps not as traders, but as citizens of Galvenia."

"Gentlemen, our Princess was kidnapped. Our King was killed. The leader of our army is now buried in state, at the Graveyard of Heroes. Our children are sick with a strange disease, one that the Zion war may have brought into our country. We cannot take these things lying down, and if we can in some way help to bring down the War Hawks or the Zion, we must do so. We cannot take what is good in Galvenia without giving anything in return."

"Sigmund…" Ellesimar Vryce looked at the younger man with admiration, and even the cynical Tolbruk dared not reply.

"Give and take, gentlemen. That is why we broke away from Johan the Mad, who was bleeding us dry. That is the Galvenian dream. A freer world, one where our children can live their own lives, without being slaves to an Emperor's tyranny. That is what Richard Lionheart fought for. That is why Edward Fletcher taught us to love the open market. I know that I am hardly a moral role model, gentlemen, and that even my own wife and daughter probably pity me, or even hold me in contempt. But I remember what that old veteran, Gustav Eramond, once said to me: _Always do the right thing. _Unearthing traitors may not be a simple task, or a lucrative one, but it is what the Government expects of us, and it is the right thing to do. As Chairman of the Fletcher Council, I vote that we unearth and destroy Thomssen and his hornet's nest before they do worse things. And I will personally expel any member of the Council who disagrees with me. Is that clear?"

He leaned back, breathing hard, his shoulders slackening.

"By gum, Sigmund," Wright said gently, "that is talking indeed. We will do as you say."

Outside, listening to this conversation unknown to them, was Lavie – whose mother had sent her there, to bring Sigmund his medicine. She listened, frozen, outside the closed door, then began to weep – and smile.

_That's the Daddy I remember, _she thought. _Daddy, I…..I'm happy for you. I'll help you. I know where those documents are._

_xxx_

"Back to the Commonwealth?" Ryan frowned. "Prime Minister, with all due respect, the war with the Zion isn't over yet."

Sheffield nodded. "I agree, Commander Eramond," he replied, "and it is true that your men, along with the Rough Riders, were instrumental our success in that war to date. In fact, allow me to congratulate you on receiving your current office from Sir Prescott. Rawley himelf has approved of it. But the War Hawks' raids on Unity Isle grow more frequent. Though men are being recalled from Itaria and the Varald border, there is a terrible fear that they may arrive too late; besides, the plague has drastically reduced the pool of Varald Divisions available. Apart from the Republicans, we are the only nation strong enough to provide support. Hunermann and Kanoi have refused to do so."

"I don't get it, Sir," Ryan said. "Why do the Zion want the Commonwealth destroyed?"

"I am at a loss to understand it, unless it is vengeance for Koketsu – especially since the institution was created by their own Lord Geraud. But that is immaterial. In one month, unless the Hawks suffer a major defeat, you and your division of Rough Riders will be deployed to Unity Isle, along with a reserve fleet under the command of Captain Flynn."

"One month…" Ryan shook his head. "But without the Rough Riders, there is every chance that the Zion will recapture Jashin and then resume open hostilities."

"I know that, Commander," Sheffield said, and smiled. "Unless your men are able to achieve something more in that one month, of course."

Ryan looked at the Prime Minister with respect. "Are you trying to tell me something, Sir?"

"Only what you already know, Commander," Sheffield replied. "First in, last out. Never give up. Never surrender."

"I think we understand each other perfectly," Ryan said.

"One more thing, Commander," Sheffield replied. "That soldier, Juno, whom you detained in the brig because he challenged you during combat. We have questioned him carefully, and have found that he intended no treachery. While I commend your zeal in not allowing him to delay your rescue of our Queen, I am afraid we will have to release him."

"All right," Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders. "As long as he comes nowhere near the Rough Riders."

"That can be easily arranged; we will have him assigned to the rearguard at Checkpoint Alpha. You see, I can speak freely with you – more freely than I can with General Freeman, who has lamentably been asking us to seek a peace treaty. Do your best in that one month, Commander Eramond."

"Don't worry, Sir," Ryan said confidently. "I will."

xxx

"I can't believe it!" Emily Regale exclaimed, wringing her hands. "There must be some mistake. Besides, my husband is ill."

"I'm sorry," the officer in the grey uniform, accompanied by two stone-faced colleagues, replied. "We have direct orders from the Head of Covert Operations at Lorean. Your husband, and four other men, have been involved in espionage, and have compromised a vital Government operation through their actions. They are all under arrest."

Sigmund, haggard and wearing an old dressing-gown over his pyjamas, still managed to look dignified. "If you wish, Officer," he said quietly. "Would you be so good as to give me a few minutes to change into something more suitable?"

The officer stepped back, chastened. "Of course, Sir."

As Sigmund made his way to his room in silence, he was intercepted by Lavie, who ran behind him breathlessly.

"Daddy," she said sadly, "is it true?"

"I'm afraid so, Lavie," he said, taking her hand. "Perhaps I deserve it, this time. Oh, not for espionage – not at all – but for letting you both down. I'm sorry."

"That's not true, Daddy," Lavie said stoutly. "I – I heard you that day, when I came to give you your pills…."

"Did you?" Sigmund smiled. "Lavie, my child, I'm glad you did. But now, I must get ready."

"Daddy, wait," she went on. "I know where those papers are. Mr. Evens gave them to me before he died, and I…."

Sigmund placed a hand over her mouth. "Hush, Lavie," he whispered. "Those men may be listening. Do you have them with you?"

"I've hidden them somewhere safe," Lavie whispered back. "Come closer, Daddy, I'll tell you."

She leaned close to him, and whispered a few words in his ear. Sigmund's weary face twisted itself into a large smile, and he began to chuckle.

"By Fletcher, Lavie, you are truly your father's daughter," he replied. "Now, please, be brave and take good care of your mother. I'll try to be back as soon as possible. Tell no one of what you know, unless it's someone you truly trust."

"I will, Daddy," Lavie replied softly. "Or die trying."

A few moments later, Sigmund returned to the hall, followed by her. Without a word, he embraced first Emily, then her, then walked towards the doorway. As the officers placed their cuffs around his wrists, he turned back.

"Goodbye, Emily," he said softly. "Goodbye, Lavie. Don't worry. It will take more than an illness, or trumped-up charges, to put down Sigmund Regale. You haven't seen the last of me!" He laughed, and neither Emily nor Lavie could contain a smile at hearing this last typical witticism. Then he left, and Emily sank down in a sofa.

"Don't worry, Mom," Lavie said steadily, as she knelt beside her. "We're not done yet."

xxx

_In two days, I will be Queen._

_And Ryan will leave for the Commonwealth._

_I will be Queen of a victorious nation – one that is on the verge of marching on the Zion capital and forcing them to surrender._

_I should be happy and grateful. But I am neither. Perhaps Father Thomssen was right – perhaps I am a wicked person, deep inside._

The war with the Zion had proceeded with a swift ruthlessness that had surprised even Sheffield. In a series of quick raids that seemed to be modeled on those of the War Hawks, Ryan's troops – backed by the regular infantry – had struck repeatedly at Issachar and Hayako, capturing the former. Having failed to capture the latter, they besieged it, and were soon rewarded when disease began to claim many of the town's inhabitants. Two weeks after the siege began, they capitulated abjectly, and Ryan – in a move that had disturbed Rawley – had set the town on fire, before forcibly relocating the survivors to Darington. With this last victory, they now held three of the five routes leading to the capital, and the Zion armies – unprepared for these tactics – began to fall back in disarray. Negotiations for peace were rumoured to have begun, and Ryan had been recalled to the capital for a briefing by Sheffield, leaving Rawley in charge of the Rough Riders.

The Princess had followed these events with mounting anxiety, concerned not only for her troops, but for the personal safety of their new Commander. The death of Prescott had unsettled her, though she did not speak of it to anyone.

That evening, Princess Carranya was alone. Her mother, along with Lady Rochelle and her other ladies-in-waiting, were attending a prayer vigil at the small chapel which Father Thomssen and his acolytes presided over, invoking the Infinity's blessings over her future reign. She had no company, save the Palace guards.

_Ryan, I'm sorry. I only wish I could have seen you, spoken to you, heard your voice, at least once before you left._

Shaking her head, Carranya continued to chant the prayers that Thomssen had assigned her, but her mind continued to wander.

xxx

"Well, you've done us proud, Eramond," Sheffield said, looking out of the window. The sun was setting over the Palace gardens, and the sky was ominously orange-red, but his heart was at rest. With the war against the Zion all but won, the plague now well under control, and the coronation almost a _fait accompli_, he could afford to congratulate himself. True, the arrest of Sigmund Regale had cost him a pang, but really – he couldn't have the man playing cloak-and-dagger in the middle of a war.

"Thank you, Sir," Ryan replied with a smile. "I'm only sorry I can't be in at the death, but I'm sure Lieutenant-Colonel Rawley will take care of everything. And I hope those War Hawks will beat a quiet retreat once they realize they're outclassed."

"Be careful, Commander," Sheffield said. "Overconfidence has been the undoing of many a fine soldier."

"They are ill-trained rabble, Prime Minister," Ryan said firmly. "But I appreciate your advice, and I shall endeavour to follow it."

"Are you returning to Davenport tonight?" Sheffield asked.

"I don't think so, Prime Minister. My ship only sets sail tomorrow night, so I shall leave for Davenport tomorrow morning to see my mother; I shall spend the night at Headquarters. Good night, Prime Minister."

"Good night, Eramond," Sheffield replied, and watched him go with some relief.

"That man is capable," he told himself. "Too much so. If we weren't such civilized people, a man like that could lead a rebellion, or usurp a throne. I'm sure he has a Varaldian ancestor somewhere. Oh, well. After this war is over, we'll give him a nice post behind a desk, or assign him to the CSF permanently, so as to keep him out of trouble."

And with this typical reflection, Sheffield left his office, and retired for the night.

Ryan, in the meantime, began to descend the staircase, when he suddenly halted.

_Ryan Aramondrius, do not return to the Academy. There is one more thing you need to do._

It was the same voice he had heard in the cave near Victoria – the friendly voice, the woman who sounded like an older version of the Princess. From time to time, ever since that day, she would appear with helpful advice. There was also a male voice, which sounded older and was more critical of him, and which he found rather annoying. When he had ordered Hayako destroyed, it had gone so far as to scold him.

_Perhaps they come from the swords, _he thought. _That old man's a bit of a bore though. I wonder if he knew Grandpa, or something! Still, he did prevent me from killing that bastard, Thomssen._ _But what do I need to do here? I can't possibly try to meet the Princess, they wouldn't even let me in._

_You are mistaken,_ the woman replied, as if answering his own thought. _Go upstairs, and you will see what I mean._

_It can't hurt,_ Ryan thought, perplexed. Climbing the stairs, he was nearly knocked down by a figure in a black cloak, who seemed to be in a great hurry to leave the Castle. Ryan glared back, but it had already disappeared from his view.

"Hey!" Ryan shouted, looking down at the carpet. "You've dropped something!"

There was no reply. Curious, he picked up the object, which was a simple sheet of paper folded in three. He unfolded it, then stepped back in shock.

_If you care for the Princess, please come to her chamber on the second floor. The path is clear._

_What the -?_ Ryan thought. _Is she in danger? Does this have something to do with her coronation?_

_You should go and find out,_ the woman's voice replied. _Remember, the War Hawks did not leave a calling card when they killed her parents._

_Caution, my son,_ the man said. _Remember your duty and your mission. You may do more harm than good. That note may not even be addressed to you._

Ryan wavered for a moment, then began to climb the steps resolutely…

xxx

The door opened slowly, and Carranya – already nervous from the solitude and the silence – rose from her chair with a start.

"Ryan?" For a moment, she believed she was seeing a vision, or had fallen asleep and was dreaming. In a daze, she stretched out her hand, and touched his cheek. "Ryan?"

"Hey, if you can feel me, I'm real, Carranya," Ryan replied, smiling and taking her hand. "What are you doing here all alone?"

"Ryan, how did you come here?" Carranya whispered.

Ryan showed her the note. "I was afraid that something might be afoot, especially after what the Hawks did, so I came as soon as I could. There was no guard outside your room."

"No guard?" Carranya said, bewildered. "There were two just an hour ago."

"Then I'll wait till they come back, and give them a piece of my mind," Ryan said firmly. "They can't leave you alone at a time like this, damn it! Oops – pardon my language, Your Majesty."

Carranya smiled shyly. "Must you call me that? After all, I will only be crowned two days from now."

"I know," Ryan said, "and they're conveniently shipping me out before that. If I was paranoid, I'd say someone had suspicions about us."

"That's impossible," Carranya replied. "Unless…" She shook her head. "Never mind, it's not possible."

"Still, it's odd; I'm the Commander of the Rough Riders, so why wouldn't they want me at the coronation?" Ryan frowned. "But let's not bother about it. I am disturbed by the fact that you're alone here. What about your maids, or your mother?"

"They've gone to pray for me," she explained. "It's rather sweet of them. My mother, the Duchess of Delanos, Lady Anton, the Honourable Helen Tulor, the Duchess of Marksmith – that's my future mother-in-law – all of them." She smiled.

A sudden memory came to Ryan on hearing one of these names, and he drew in his breath sharply.

"What's the matter, Ryan?" she asked.

"Just something that Prescott told me before he died," Ryan replied. "It was him, wasn't it? The boy who took you on a trip to Lorean Glade? He told me…"

Carranya blushed. "I see you already know everything," she said.

"Well, Prescott asked me to be good to you – something that I would have done myself, anyway" – Ryan laughed and squeezed her hand – "but he also asked me to guard you against a certain person."

"And who might that be, Lord Ryan?" Carranya said playfully, leading him to a sofa, where they both sat down.

"The Duchess of Marksmith," Ryan replied. "He told me that the Duke's mother was in league with the Zion."

Carranya laughed. "Ryan, that's absurd," she said. "You don't know her, don't you? She's a plump old woman, completely wrapped up in her precious son. Prescott is just angry with her because she was one of my chaperones when I – ran away with him, and she was the one who actually – how do I say this nicely? – bribed him. Lord Freeman is a cousin of hers, and she offered him the glory of a military career if he'd stay away from me."

"You seem quite light-hearted today," Ryan said, surprised. "I thought that was rather a painful topic."

"It is," Carranya admitted, "but I don't know why – I've all but forgotten about Sir Prescott. I know I cared about him terribly once upon a time, but not anymore. _You_ know why." She ran a hand through his hair.

Ryan smiled, and placed his arm around her shoulders. "It's strange, isn't it? Once upon a time, I guess I felt the same way about Marianne, but not anymore. I guess what they say about first loves must be a load of nonsense."

"How wisely you speak, Ryan," Carranya replied, nestling against his shoulder. "And no matter what I have to do in the line of duty, I'll always remember you."

"Same here, Carrie," Ryan said, running his fingers through her auburn hair, which was loose, instead of being tied in the usual braids that she wore. "Same here. I guess that's another thing we have in common – we have to do our duty, even if it's not particularly pleasant. I'm off to Unity Isle to fight the Hawks, and you're marrying Marksmith. I wonder which of those is the harder task, actually."

"That is a hard question," Carranya admitted. "It's true that, in terms of physical danger, you'll have the harder time, Ryan. I'm safe here in my castle, and I can always hide behind my position and my throne. But you're still free – and I'm…" Her voice failed her, and she lowered her head.

"Carrie, don't cry," Ryan said gently. "All this is happening for a reason, and while I'm hanged if I can figure it out, all we can do is just – do our best, I guess. Do the right thing. And I still believe you'll make a great Queen. Heck, maybe after old Charlemagne croaks, you might charm a Zion prince and unite our nations once more!" He laughed.

"Very funny, Ryan," she replied archly, giving him a light tap on the cheek. "And when I am Queen, one of the first things I'll do is knight you when you get back from your campaign."

"Hey, Sir Ryan Eramond doesn't sound that bad. At least it might take away some of the less savoury aspects of my family history," he said somberly.

"What do you mean?"

"I just – found out a few disturbing things about my family, shortly before my father died. On a less depressing note, I'm apparently a descendant of one of the Journeymen – a friend of mine had some old documents that traced the genealogy, apparently."

"The Journeymen?" Carranya looked at him with admiration. "I've read about them as a child. They were great leaders as well as mages – they used to be called 'the warrior kings', even though they were more like feudal lords or knights. I didn't know I was in love with one of them, though!"

_Leave now,_ the old man said. _You have cheered her heart. Do not entangle yourself further. I know only too well how such things end._

"I love you too, Carrie," Ryan said simply, and they both blushed. There was an awkward pause, and then Ryan gently released her, and stood up.

"Look, I'd best be going. I'll just fetch the guards and give them a lecture, and then I'd better be on my way – it wouldn't look good for a Commander to break curfew at Headquarters!" He tried to laugh, but the thought of leaving her made his laughter hollow.

"Ryan," she said wistfully, "must you leave? Why not wait, at least until you hear someone coming? This moment – I don't know how to say it, but…Don't leave me, Ryan."

Ryan sighed. "I know what you mean, Carrie, but the longer I stay, the harder it will be for either of us to say goodbye." He drew her into his arms and embraced her, and she did not resist. "Think of me, okay? And don't worry too much. Some things in life have to be endured, but they all come right in the end."

"Ryan," she murmured, "thank you. No matter what happens after this, I'll always treasure the memories of the time we spent together."

"That makes me glad, Carrie," Ryan said softly. "I –"

_You are a fool, Aramondrius, _the woman said. _If you die on Unity Isle, you will die unfulfilled, like Prescott. Is that what you want?_

_Always do the right thing, boy, _the man retorted. _That's what your grandfather taught you, bless his soul._

Ryan wavered, then pulled away. "All right, then," he said awkwardly. "I'll be on my way. Farewell, Carrie. I'll never forget you. Never."

Carranya's hand reached out desperately, and caught hold of his arm. "Ryan, please," she said. "We may never meet again, and even if we do, we can never be this close. Stay with me, at least for a little while."

Ryan looked at the sorrow in her eyes, and choked down the light-hearted retort that was on his lips.

_She is yours, Aramondrius. You belong to each other. Why hesitate? _

"Do you really want me to stay, Carrie?" he said softly, as he caught her and held her to him. "I will, but only if that's what you want."

"Yes, my love," Carranya whispered, clinging to him. "I do."

xxx


	20. Chapter 19: Honour

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**  
_**Honour**_

**VALTEMOND, EMPEROR GERAUD I**…._As someone who was both Emperor and President of the Commonwealth, and a Saint of the Itarian Canon in addition, Geraud I of Zion enjoys a semi-legendary, mystical status in the continents of Arlia and Itaria. Because of this, the stories of his youth and parentage have been subjected to critical analysis. Some Zionese historians, such as Gonda (q.v.) have challenged the received wisdom that his father was Leon Jenkin of the Varald Directorate, pointing out that Count Zenkai, a young noble popular at his grandfather's court, was a more likely candidate. Even if we reject this, Geraud's illegitimacy is a matter of historical record, and his right to rule was ascertained only by an official Edict from his mother, Sylvania III (q.v.), which was ratified by the Church of the Infinity._

_Visions and apparitions of Saint Geraud have been a staple on Terra ever since the Commonwealth was founded, particularly at moments of crisis such as Chespa Bay. Some saints and mystics have claimed to enjoy lengthy conversations with him, and their writings are consistent with what is known of Geraud's personality and beliefs. Such is his stature that the small "Church of Geraud", in the Fulton Republic, considers him an incarnation of God; and though the Itarian Church under Pious XIX condemned this as a heresy, that same Pontiff also awarded him the title of "Greatest of the Saints"…_

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

The coronation of Queen Carranya – coming as it did immediately after the victory at Issachar and the sack of Hayako – was the high point of the dying summer of 302 for most Galvenians, even those – like Sigmund Regale – who happened to be in prison. After an initial but fortunately milder fit of "the horrors", he had settled into a quiet life, reading, writing, and cherishing the limited visits he was permitted from Emily and Lavie. They had been joined by Leah and her family, who had left the Republic after David had barely survived the plague and was advised to spend some time in a cooler part of Terra.

"I wish there was a way we could watch the coronation from here," his guard said gloomily. "Look at us, Mr. Regale. We're stuck here, while the rest of Galvenia cheers her. Aye, a fairer maiden never became Queen. God bless that child, and may she rule more wisely than her sottish father."

"That is entirely possible," Sigmund replied, making a note in the margin of his book. "And if she does, the first thing I would wish for would be a Royal pardon."

The guard laughed. He liked Sigmund, who reminded him of an old police captain he'd once worked for and respected. "Well, hope springs eternal, Mr. Regale," he replied. "Toodles. Maybe I can catch a bit of the action on the radio."

At Lorean Castle, no expense had been spared. The Hall of Kings was lit with a thousand lights, and the ancient golden regalia of Queen Mother Penelope had been brought out and given, if only for one day, to the current Queen Mother. Carranya, resplendent in a silver gown, looked grave as the Prime Minister read the Decree of Succession aloud to the assembled Royals, nobles and notables of Galvenia.

Following this, Father Richard Laplace – the auxiliary bishop of Galvenia, for Galvenia, until recently, had too few believers to merit a full bishop – pronounced the blessing over her, with Thomssen, watching from the front row, smiling grimly. After handing her the orb that symbolized her sovereignity over Galvenia and all its territories, she advanced steadily towards the throne, the sunlight passing through the transparent dome setting her face aglow. Kneeling before the Prime Minister and her mother, she received her scepter, and then the crown was placed on her head.

A roar of applause, beginning modestly but swelling to a raucous crescendo, filled the Hall, and more than one member of the audience was moved to tears. Carranya, turning around to face them, raised her hand and spoke.

"My people," she said, "I stand before you knowing that your deepest hopes, your darkest fears, have – like this crown – now come to rest upon my brow." She smiled. "I do not know if I can live up to those expectations – contrary to your expectations, a Queen is not superhuman. But neither is she a fragile flower, to be protected and kept away from the hardships and realities of life."

"What is this delirium?" Thomssen hissed. General Freeman, who was quite enjoying himself, stamped on his foot, effectively silencing him.

"In the last two years, my friends, we have seen ugliness and folly – we have stared them in the face. But we have also seen goodness and beauty – a goodness that refuses to be hidden, a light that refuses to be quenched, in spite of disease, death or war. It is because of this goodness that I stand before you today."

"By King Richard," Sir Cornelius said under his breath. "I did not think she had it in her to say more than a polite hello."

"It is true, my people, that we have been sadly remiss in the recent past. We have been too trusting, too gullible – too ready to believe that certain people had our best interests at heart, even when they hurt us and violated our trust. Today, we have learned our lesson the hard way - a lesson that applies not only to individuals, but to those nations who took advantage of our patience and of our docility. Today, we shall show those people a new face. We shall dare to say to the enemies of Galvenia what the Rough Riders have taught us to say: We shall never give up. We shall never surrender. We shall never retreat."

"Rough Riders?" Lady Anton shook her head knowingly and murmured to her neighbour. "The poor child is still pining after Prescott."

"I know that there are some who would take my words as tokens of foolish idealism, or of youthful inexperience," the Queen went on. "Perhaps they are." She smiled, and even the most jaundiced noble found himself smiling in return. "But it is perhaps fitting that I should speak to you this way, for we are at the dawn of a new age for Galvenia. No more can we take the paternalism, or the seemingly benevolent tutelage, of our Zion neighbours for granted. We must come of age, and we must assert ourselves and take pride in being citizens of Galvenia, the land of freedom."

The Royal Guards, and those of the Army still left at Lorean, burst into spontaneous applause.

"Moreover, if we are to preach freedom, we must also be the first to condemn it. As Queen of Galvenia, therefore, I extend the hand of royal protection and patronage, cruelly withdrawn by the barons of Zion, to Pontiff Pious XXI and the Church of the Infinity in Itaria. Though our nations may always concur on matters of faith, we are both bastions of freedom, and I pledge our material and moral support to you."

"And now, having told you what I believe is necessary, may I have the courage to put it into action, and to see it through to the end – so help me, Infinity. God bless you all. God bless Galvenia."

Thomssen turned pale and shuddered, but his reaction was lost amidst the cheering throng. As the Royal Orchestra burst into a spirited rendition of the national anthem, "O Land of Good King Lionheart," he was perhaps the only unhappy man in the entire room. And his misery was not to end there.

"Don't move, buddy," a voice said suddenly. "Time to come home to roost."

Turning around, he saw a cocky-looking blond man pointing a pistol at him. Before he could speak, he saw that he was surrounded by men in the grey uniform of his own Covert Operations Division – but he did not recognize any of them. From the Parliamentary enclosure, he saw Sir Cornelius Fairfax smile at him – the smile of a man who knows he has put one over a hated opponent. As the crowd continued to applaud their new Queen, he was silently and swiftly led through the gaps between them, and into a waiting carriage, where his arms and legs were bound in chains.

There was no escape. For the first time in his life, he was trapped.

xxx

There was to be no such good cheer for Ryan Eramond – now given the honourary rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the Commonwealth Special Forces – over the next two months, as he and his men marshaled the Commonwealth's dwindling resources and set about wearing down the War Hawks. Their arrival had boosted the Republican and Varaldian forces that were guarding the centre of Unity Isle, and allowed them to launch attacks all along the coast.

Using the newly-developed landmines that his Varaldian counterparts had brought with them, Ryan began – with a firmness that made his fellow commanders quail – to set traps for the Hawks, baiting them with seemingly undefended camps or unguarded cannon, and then leading them into fields studded with mines. As they watched their fellow renegades killed or mutilated before them, the Rough Riders and Republican divisions would open fire, while Ryan would drive the more foolhardy of them back with his two swords.

Lieutenant-Colonel Stein, now reassigned to Unity Isle after his Itarian adventure, had remonstrated with him.

"Eramond, we need to fight fair," he argued. "These tactics reduce us to the level of the Hawks."

"What else would you do, Sir?" Ryan had replied, implacably. "The War Hawks are not a sovereign nation. We do not know who they are, or who their leader is. If you do, please inform me, so that we can invite them to tea with President Hipper and solve things diplomatically."

Stein blanched, turned on his heel, and returned to his post. But despite the soul-searching that his methods occasioned, the Commonwealth Special Forces gradually began to rally to Ryan and recognize him as their leader, though Stein and his counterpart, Bender of the Varald, were nominally superior.

Through all the victories and defeats, the explosions and the death, Ryan maintained an impassive exterior, but within, he was in turmoil. One memory came to his mind over and over again, and try as he might, he could not dispel it.

_He woke, feeling calm and refreshed, as if he had slept for more than a day. Turning to his right, he felt something warm resting on his right shoulder – the head of Princess Carranya, her red hair spilling over his chest. There was a peaceful smile on her face, but there were also tracks of tears in her eyes._

_A little later, she stirred and woke._

"_Ryan?" she smiled."Good morning, Ryan…." Then she closed her eyes, and began to weep._

"_Carrie…" he stammered, as she held on to him. "Look, C-Carrie, I'm sorry. I love you."_

_Carranya dried her eyes, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Why are you apologizing, Ryan?" She tried to smile, and blushed at the same time._

"_Are you – all right?" he said lamely. "Perhaps I shouldn't have stayed…"_

_Carranya trembled. "Don't say that, Ryan," she replied. "I've started understanding certain things – about what is true, and what simply seems to be true but is actually a cruel lie. When I fell asleep in your arms, a part of me was saying that what I'd done was wrong – that Father Thomssen had been right. That I was – damaged."_

_Ryan shook his head. "It's not your fault, Carrie. I – I wish I could convince you of that. I know I didn't behave as a gentleman ought to – and yet, in one way, I'm neither ashamed nor afraid. I know now, more than ever, what you mean to me."_

"_And so do I," she said, leaning closer to him. "Thank you, Ryan. You've given me something that I didn't think I had."_

"_And what might that be?" he asked, curiously._

"_Courage," Carranya said. "Now I know that I can go through life unafraid, no matter what happens – I can look those who tried to harm me in the eye, and laugh in their face. And it's all because of you. You opened my eyes. As you held me and I fell asleep, I found myself looking at everything differently. The nightmares were gone."_

"_I don't know what exactly you mean, Carrie," Ryan replied, "but if I've managed to make you even a little happy, I can go to the Commonwealth and fight – even die – in peace."_

_They remained together in silence, neither wishing to disturb the serenity of that moment._

_Later, as he embraced her before waving goodbye, she placed her hand over his head, and looked grave. "Ryan, you will soon have to make difficult choices," she said. "I know even I, with my new-found bravery, would flinch and turn away from them. Remember me when that hour comes, and remember my love for you. They will guide you when all seems dark. Farewell, Ryan, my love."_

"_Goodbye, Carrie – my love," Ryan replied, his hand going to his sword. "I will remember."_

The voices had continued to accompany him throughout his campaign – the old man would badger him, while the woman, who spoke rarely, would praise his efforts. On one occasion, wearied by the former's sermons, he had lost his temper.

"Look here," he muttered, "why are you annoying me like this? You're almost as bad as Lavie."

_That is neither a kind nor a respectful thing to say, my boy. Try to learn some lessons from that girl you love – patience, gentleness, humility._

"I am a soldier," he retorted. "What good would those do me on a battlefield? Moreover, I am a man. I cannot spend my time cultivating feminine virtues when the War Hawks' grenades land at my feet."

_To think that you once idolized me, boy. It is sad._

"Grandpa?" But he shook his head even as he mouthed the word. His grandfather was a soldier. He would not have preached peace.

_Hardly, Ryan. I am much older. But enough about me. Why are you so bitter? You have everything a young man would want – fame in war, honour, love. Or do you?_

"She marries Marksmith today," Ryan whispered hoarsely, looking up at the night sky over Unity Isle. "I do not know how she can bear it. I cannot."

_Sometimes, the weaker sex has a strength that we mere men lack – and sometimes, they can conceal that strength under a fragile exterior. I ought to know that. To the outside world, my mother was a victim – a deserted woman, one who would have to live in shame. But in reality, she was anything but that._

"Your mother?"

_Go to sleep, Ryan, _the old man said. _Go to sleep. Dream of her if you must._

Returning to his tent, Ryan fell asleep – then woke with a start a few hours later, the image he had just seen burned into his eyes. Tearing a piece of paper from his logbook, he reproduced it – it was a simple figure – then stared at it, wondering what it meant.

_In this sign,_ the voice said suddenly, _is the key that will unlock the door you are trying to break down._

"What do you mean?" he said, shaking his head.

_You are intelligent, boy. Work it out. Like your friend Lavender, I believe in you._

_xxx_

The traditional legalities that bound the Queen to her new husband had taken place – as tradition dictated whenever a Royal married a fellow noble – at the Duke's residence, in a quiet ceremony that was witnessed only by her mother, the maids of honour, and the Duke's family. The Royal couple had spent that night there, before journeying together to Lorean Castle for the public ceremony that would follow.

"You are gathered together," the Reverend Laplace intoned solemnly, "under the eyes of the Infinity, to walk the road of life together. Do you, Joseph Lawrence, Duke of Marksmith, take Carranya Gerius Elizabeth Alexandra Lionheart as your wife? And do you, Carranya, take Joseph Lawrence Robert Kingsley, Duke of Marksmith, as your husband?"

"We do," the couple replied, though there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm on the part of the royal groom – which, to be charitable, was simply due to his nervousness in the face of such a crowd. But even this churlish conduct could not spoil the occasion, which was being held in the courtyard of Lorean Castle, under the mild rays of the late summer sun. In a white dress and diaphanous veil, the Queen seemed to have wandered out of a fairy-tale, while the Duke – despite his bloodshot eyes – was turned out in the height of sartorial elegance.

"Then, by the powers invested in me through the goodness of the Infinity, I now pronounce you husband and wife," Laplace said. "Walk together steadfastly, with His blessing upon you."

"So let it be," they replied.

Fireworks lit up the sky, and the Royal Orchestra struck up a popular march, as the Queen and her new consort began to walk away from the altar and towards the drawbridge of the Castle. And then it happened.

The sky began to turn dark, turning pitch black in a matter of minutes. It was like an eclipse, except that no eclipse progressed that rapidly. The crowd grew silent, the band's music slowly died down, and there was the sound of a scuffle, followed by a high-pitched, strangled scream. A ball of white light briefly lit up the path, blinding those nearby, and then the sky slowly began to light up again.

As the guests blinked and rubbed their eyes, they turned with horror to face the altar. The Reverend Laplace was lying prone at its foot, a trickle of blood running down his forehead, and the Princess and the Duke were gone.

The crowd, dismayed, began to weep, as the Palace guards rushed to and fro helplessly, looking for their Queen. The Queen Mother, weeping silently, was escorted away by her friend, Lady Anton, while the Prime Minister pleaded with the people to remain calm, and not to hamper the search by moving around.

Queen Carranya, in the meantime, was unaware of all this. On sensing someone approach her and her new husband, she had tried to defend herself – hence the ball of light – but she felt herself being struck, as if by an invisible beam, and she fell to the ground, the shadows around her moving in slow motion.

When she woke – she did not know after how long – she felt her body sway gently, and realized she was at sea. Opening her eyes, she realized that her hands were bound, though her legs were free to move. Her wedding dress was gone, replaced by a simple frock, similar to the one she had worn aboard the _Paradiso._

Before she could do anything further, a man entered the room, wearing the uniform of a Zion military officer.

"Ah, you've woken up, I see," he said. "Welcome to His Imperial Majesty's Ship, the _Madness of Johan_."

"A curious name for a ship," Carranya replied calmly. "Where am I being taken? And where is my husband?"

"Ah, you have many questions," the man replied. "Allow me to introduce myself first, Your Majesty. I am Major-General Shimura, of His Highness' First Imperial Battalion. It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Again?" Carranya frowned. "I remember. You were on the _Paradiso_ as well."

"That is correct, Your Majesty," he replied with a polite bow. "Now, we will untie your bonds shortly, but only if you assure us that you will try nothing desperate. You see, we want you alive."

Carranya began to feel sick, though she did not feel the slightest trace of fear. Leaning against a wall of the ship's cabin for support, she stood up and faced the Zion officer. "Are you not weary of this?" she said firmly. "Your men have already tried to abduct me once. It did not end well for you. Do you truly wish to tempt fate?"

"Your Majesty," Shimura replied with a smile, "we are merely taking you to meet His Highness, the Emperor Charlemagne. He is most eager to meet you, unlike the last time."

Carranya began to retch, and placed one hand over her mouth.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Shimura said kindly. "I did not realize you were subject to sea-sickness. Here, this will help."

He handed her a glass filled with a brown liquid. Sniffing at it carefully, she took a sip, then drank it down quickly, realizing that she was both hungry and thirsty. It tasted both sharp and sweet, and she felt herself revive a little. "Thank you, Major-General," she said, more steadily. "Now, if you will be so good as to answer me, where is my husband, the Duke?"

"The Duke?" Shimura chuckled. "He will be with you soon, if you wish it, Your Majesty. On the whole, you are handling this ordeal better than he is."

Carranya relaxed as she felt the sickness ebb away. "These are early days, Major-General," she replied. "He may impress you yet."

xxx

"Destroy them!" Ryan said firmly. The Rough Riders' grenadiers, with Ryan at their head, marched forward, sowing further panic among the ragged line of War Hawks. A series of explosions later, almost a hundred of them lay dead, while his men – safe behind a line of mines had suffered only minor casualties.

"Good work, men," Ryan said. "Now, let's head back to camp and meet the new men who've just landed on the coast. Stein says that some of the Hawks are still trying to break through to attack the Fortress of the Nations, but he's holding them off."

A quick "mop-up" later, and Ryan was reviewing the hundred new men who had just arrived by ship from Galvenia. As they marched along in a single file, he found himself face to face with his old friend.

"Henrik?" he said incredulously.

"Yep, that's me," he replied. "I made it to Lance-Corporal, and then they sent me here. What's the show like out here?"

"It's a clown show, Lance-Corporal Spenson," Ryan replied. "I wish with all my heart that I was back in Galvenia." His face clouded over. "The men who did that to our Queen are not fit to live."

"Rumour has it that she's being taken to Caledonia, and she'll reach in a few days," Henrik said. "At least, that's what the Commodore who brought us here said. His ship, and a fleet of ten others, are trying to blockade the Zion coast, because our High Command have sighted a ship with an unknown figurehead – something like a gargoyle – flying the Zion colours, and making for Caledonia."

"I wish –" Ryan began, then stopped. "Look here, Henrik, could I ask you something?"

"Sure, Ryan," he replied. "What is it?"

Ryan took the drawing he had made out of his pocket. It was a simple design: two diagonal lines crossing each other, forming the shape of an X lying sideways. Above the upper limbs of the X was a single circle. "Do you have any idea what this might represent? I've asked the other men in camp, but they're all Varald or Republicans. Is this some sort of Itarian symbol?"

"It is," Henrik said. "That's the Chiasmus of Saint Geraud."

"The what?" Ryan said, shaking his head. "I've read a lot about Lord Geraud, but I've never heard of this."

"Chiasmus," Henrik repeated. "It's just an old Republican word for the letter X. It was an early symbol of the Commonwealth, before it was replaced by the eight-pointed star and bayleaf wreath. I'm even wearing one, look!" He reached inside his tunic, and pulled out a small medallion which bore the symbol in question, along with a likeness of Geraud Valtemond.

"That's nice," Ryan said drily, "but what does it mean?"

"It's mean to represent both unity and conflict. The two lines represent crossed swords, which are symbols of war and mankind's potential to destroy itself. But they also represent the ties that bind – love, friendship, loyalty, patriotism, and a love for humanity in the abstract. The circle above symbolizes the sun, and by extension, God: in Geraud's writings, God is often described as "the sun that enlightens the darkness of human hearts". The Chiasmus represents Saint Geraud's hope that, with God's help, mankind could overcome its love of war, and instead unite under his rule. It never caught on at the Commonwealth, mainly because the Varald objected to the religious imagery, but it's still a popular image in Arlia and Itaria. The church in Zion often used it, at least before they went cuckoo and appointed Maximillian as their bogus Pontiff. Lovers in Zion and Itaria often use it as an epigraph to a love letter, reflecting their desire to be bound together for life with God's blessings. Mystics use it as a symbol of spiritual warfare – the conflict between good and evil inclinations, which only God can resolve…"

"All right, I get it," Ryan said impatiently. "But what does it have to do with this war?"

"Does it?" Henrik asked, looking thoughtfully at him. "In what context? It's a symbol of peace, not war."

Ryan began to speak, then stopped. "That's – not too important, Henrik," he said stiffly. "Thanks."

Puzzled, Henrik rejoined the line as they continued to march forward. Ryan walked away, deep in thought.

_The conflict between good and evil inclinations._

_Am I doing evil deeds?_

_Is Stein right?_

_Should I have acted differently towards my father? To Lavie?_

_Did I behave dishonourably towards Carranya? No. No, I can't accept that. Carranya and I belong together. No Saint, no God, can change that._

The woman's voice was consoling. _Ryan Aramondrius, be brave. The Commonwealth needs men with a strong will, not simpering mystics and Itarian saints._

It seemed to Ryan that he heard a sigh – a long, deep sigh – and then, silence.

xxx

Joseph, Duke of Marksmith – now Prince Consort – looked out of the window of the cabin that he and the Queen now shared, and groaned. The journey was now nearing its end, according to Shimura – a man whom he feared despite his politeness and concern. What unnerved him even more was that his new bride was reacting far more calmly than he was: though they were both troubled by sea-sickness, she adopted a soothing, almost maternal attitude towards him.

"Are you not afraid?" he had asked her once, as they lay huddled together in the tiny cot that Shimura had assigned them.

"One can only fear what one does not know, my lord," she replied. "You seem to forget that I have been captured once already. Do not worry. It is me they want, not you."

The Duke shook his head. He burned to ask her about the first capture – and about what he had seen on the Memory Crystal – but he was afraid to do so. "Then why did they take me along?" he asked.

"To make their triumph greater, I presume," she said. "The first time, they were capturing a Princess – this time, they have captured the Queen and the Prince Consort." She smiled. "Fortunately, I had a premonition that this would come to pass, and I left instructions with the Prime Minister on how he should proceed in my absence. And if we should ever be in danger, I will stand by you."

Marksmith looked at her, amazed. He had known many women in his brief and colourful life – several of them at close quarters – but the woman who was now his wife was quite unlike them.

"Carranya," the Duke said gently, "I know you probably did not want to marry me in the first place. I know I have cut a sorry figure before you in these last days. But I want you to know this – I am glad, truly glad, that you are here with me."

"Thank you, my lord," Carranya replied softly. "One good thing about landing in Caledonia is that this pitching and rolling will end. I could do without taking any more of the good Major-General's medicine."

"It does taste a bit funny," Marksmith replied, holding her hand. "And now, try to rest, my wife. We will need all our strength to face Hunermann – or whoever has masterminded this vile deed – once we arrive. Pleasant dreams carry you to the morrow."

Carranya smiled as she drew the sheet over them both. "Good night, my lord," she said, closing her eyes. "Perhaps we will wake up, and find that this was but a dream."

xxx

"Commander!" Sean Wilson called out frantically, as he and the radio operator rose from the portable transceiver they carried with them everywhere. "We've received a distress call from Stein! His line has broken, and the War Hawks are marching on the Fortress of the Nations!"

"Then we need to hurry," Ryan said calmly. "Sean, take our men and two of the Republican divisions, and approach from the east. The Varaldians and I will go straight ahead. Ask the new men to remain in the rear, in case this is an attempt at strategy on their part."

In less than an hour, the Commonwealth forces, divided into two as he had ordered, were within sight of the Fortress of the Nations. The terrified Councilmen and Senators within had already fired two distress flares, and Stein's men, pushed almost to the walls of the citadel, were fighting a losing battle to keep them from breaching the wall. Facing them were almost a thousand men, all wearing the silver and black uniforms of the Hawks.

Ryan smiled. "All right, this is our show now," he said over the radio. "Sean, take down their stragglers with the grenades, and a few volleys. Easy does it."

Wilson's men opened fire, and the War Hawks' inexorable march was halted as their rearguard fell. Turning behind them, they realized that they were now cut in half – Ryan's men had swiftly moved in to separate their two battalions, and Wilson was besieging the latter.

"Colonel Bender, it's your world now," Ryan said, tipping his cap to his Varald collague. "Fire at will."

Bender smiled grimly, and his cannons opened fire in a deafening chorus of reports and explosions. One of the War Hawks' divisions was halted in its course.

"Now!" Ryan cried out, raising his sword. "Move in, and take as many of them as you can!"

"Sir!" the sentry in his rearguard called out. "Behind us!"

Ryan turned, and realized that his men had walked into a trap. Marching swiftly on _their_ rear was another division of Hawks, about two hundred strong.

"We're not going back," he said firmly. "The Fortress is more important than the lives of a few of us. Tell the new men to hold the rear – that's what they're here for."

The message was duly transmitted, and Henrik and his fellow soldiers soon found themselves in the midst of a fierce fight, as Ryan's Rough Riders continued to cut through the Hawks' front line. The sky grew thick with smoke as guns and cannons thundered, and it was almost nightfall before an eerie stillness came upon the battlefield.

"We're almost there!" Ryan said. "Forward!"

As his men joined up with Wilson's, and crossed the bridge that led across the small Lake of Geraud to the Fortress itself, they came upon the remnant of Stein's men, still fighting valiantly against the last of the Hawks, with a man in full ceremonial armour at the head of the latter. Drawing his sword, Ryan aimed it at the leader of the small troop. A red beam of light struck the visor of his helmet, and he fell to the ground, convulsed with pain. The diversion gave Stein enough time to defeat the few men that still remained, and soon, the Hawks were either dead or captured.

Ryan, in the meantime, rushed forward to kneel beside the leader, who was lying face down on the ground.

"Great work, men," he said calmly. "Let's clean up, and those of you who like talking can go inside and hold Hipper's hand for him. I'm going to get some answers out of this bloke."

"Remember, he's worth more to us alive," Stein said, as he arranged the remaining men with him around the perimeter of the Fortress. "He seems to be their commander."

"All right, my friend," Ryan said. As he turned him around, he gasped with surprise.

"Agent Schenk?" he whispered.

"Ryan…." Jason Schenk was dying, but his smile still remained on his face. "What an irony. They sent _you_ to defeat me? The fools. Little do they know that we're on the same side in this fight…."

"And with your own sword, too," Ryan said softly, sheathing it. "Agent Schenk, what the hell is going on here?"

"Call me Jason," he murmured. "Ryan, my brother – I wish things could have ended differently. I told Jacob that he was playing with fire. Now I die ingloriously, and he – I…..Ryan, help me."

Ryan looked at his half-brother, and tried to lift him up. "Jason, I'm sorry too. But I need you to answer a question for me. Who are these War Hawks? Are they in league with the Zion? What do you hope to achieve?"

"They lied to us," Jason said sadly. "The War Hawks were my grandfather's creation. A descendant of Albrut….he swore vengeance on the Commonwealth, for failing to protect the Order of the Journeymen – for allowing the Zion and Varald to toy with the rest of us. He tried….He nearly won, Ryan. He failed, thanks to that imbecile Whitworth. A cruel twist of fate…..his pupil is the one who has foiled us a second time. He lived in obscurity, and his daughter married my father – and yours."

"Your grandfather? You mean – Almonth Jakov was your grandfather?"

"That was one of his many names, just as Lugner is one of mine," Jason said, the smile returning to his lips. "He taught us to follow….in his footsteps. All of us – hedge wizards, mercenaries, soldiers of fortune. Those who want Terra to belong to Terrans – not to be carved up by dictators, emperors and businessmen."

"And you made an alliance with the Zion?" Ryan looked at him sternly.

"Jacob and I decided to – play both sides, my brother," Jason said, his eyes filled with remorse. "We would help them, and then we would capture the Commonwealth and dictate terms to them. We sowed dissension in their ranks. We spread pro-Pontiff and pro-Galvenia propaganda among them. We would have rescued Carranya, if you hadn't got there first."

"And Juno?" Ryan shook his head. "What does he have to do with it?"

"My father's sins, Ryan, go a long way…He destroyed the reputation of Juno's father. Juno wanted vengeance. It is a long story….a painful one. Besides, Juno loved that girl…"

"Marianne?" Ryan looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Not Marianne – the girl we tried to kidnap, the girl who wounded me. Lavie Regale – that was her name. A brave girl, Ryan….she would have been a fine consort for any of the Aramondrius men." He chuckled.

"You tried to kidnap Lavie?" Ryan said, feeling strangely outraged by the idea. "What on Terra for?"

"Schemes, my brother, schemes. Too long….too difficult to explain. But it's all over now, is it not?"

"Don't die on me so soon," Ryan said gently. "You can still make amends. You can tell us what you know. I suppose you're the ones who assassinated Koketsu and Wilhelm."

"Were we?" Jason shook his head and smiled again. "No, Ryan, that is a good guess, but you are wrong. The truth is much darker. Find Jacob, Ryan, and stop him before he ruins us all – he and the Zion."

"What do you mean? We've beaten the Zion," Ryan said proudly.

"On the battlefield, perhaps," Jason replied. "But there are worse things than losing in war, Ryan. I have studied much….and what I know frightens me worse than the thought of death. If only I had more time…"

"Tell me what you can," Ryan urged him.

"The sacrifice, Ryan….it is an old ritual, the culmination of something evil." His voice grew stronger, and his fingers clutched at Ryan's shoulders. "The sacrifice at Koroth. The plague. The son and the daughter of chaos. The female demon that Samath and Kaleb fought over – neither was right. The false leader from Zion, his consort from Galvenia, and the false prophet – poor Maximillian, the coward. All these things will soon be consummated. Man – woman – child. You must stop them. You need to reach Caledonia as soon as you can…"

"Koroth?"

"Victoria….You visited the cave, didn't you? Did she speak to you?" Jason replied. "Jacob sensed it. It had to be done. Ryan, I have always admired you. You are what I wished to be, had I not carried the curse of my grandfather upon my head. Perhaps it is fitting that I should depart in this way. Take my helmet – it will protect you when the hour comes."

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Goodbye, Ryan," he said, and with one last shudder, he fell over to his side.

"Goodbye, Jason," Ryan said quietly. Taking the helmet that lay beside the body of his half-brother, he picked it up and placed it on his head. It fit snugly.

_Your work here is done, boy,_ the elderly man's voice said. _I wish I could find it in my heart to condemn you for taking another man's wife, but it was destined to be so. Save her, Ryan, before the viceroys of my worthless descendant commit the final infamy._

"Your descendant?" he murmured.

Suddenly it struck him.

"The viceroys of Zion? L – Lord Geraud?"

_You are quick, boy. Do not listen to that woman – the one you unsealed at Koroth. Once this location is secure, you must head for Caledonia._

"But how?" Ryan said, bewildered. "My mission is to secure Unity Isle. I have no legitimate reason to go there."

_Where there is a will,_ Lord Geraud replied, _the Infinity makes a way. Be careful, though. Your stumbling block is not fear, but temptation._

Ryan flushed. "Do you mean Carranya?"

_I mean something far worse._

_xxx_


	21. Chapter 20: Deliverance

**CHAPTER TWENTY**  
_**Deliverance**_

**HUMAN SACRIFICE**..._The majority of human sacrifices in the history of Terra have occurred in the context of war. In this case, they are either public acts of humiliation and vengeance, or attempts to propitiate the anger of the gods which was assumed to have led to a particular war. However, sacrifices have also been part of magical rituals to bring rain, to consecrate a pagan temple, or to safeguard a monarch whose life was in danger. In all these cases, the motive is the same – appeasement._

_Darker stories, of a sensational and legendary nature, swirl around the final category of human sacrifices – those offered to demons or devils. Theologians argue that the devil, who is unable to create life on his own, can only transfer vital forces or attributes from one man to another: thus, the sacrifice is a means of granting preternatural powers to the man offering it. Modern skeptics have largely poured cold water on this idea, but the vast number of authenticated cases in ancient history suggests that belief in this ritual was common both in Arlia and Ghetz…_

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"I think this is unwise," the Queen Mother said, shaking her head. "For all her good qualities, Carranya is not infallible, and we are not bound by her instructions."

"With all due respect, Queen Katarina, we are," Sir Cornelius replied firmly. "Carranya is our Queen, and the Cabinet and the Army have sworn allegiance to her."

"Still, we cannot attack the Zion without cause," she replied slowly. "We have no evidence that they are the ones responsible."

"Name one other nation on Terra which has the magical abilities – and the proximity to Galvenia – that they have, and I shall investigate it," Prime Minister Sheffield retorted. "In instructions left with her companion, Lady Rochelle, and which were to be delivered to us in the event of her disappearance, she has not only anticipated this event, but warned us that she would be taken to Caledonia. Moreover, our covert operatives have just informed us that there are two prisoners being held in the old Castle of Hohenzollern at Caledonia. Their descriptions match those of the Queen and the Prince Consort."

Rochelle, sitting beside the Queen, nodded. "Ordinarily, I would not contradict you in public, Katarina, but this is a serious affair. Your child's life is in danger."

"We cannot attack Caledonia lightly," General Freeman said, looking worried. "Our troops are already reduced by the deployment of the Rough Riders to Unity Isle. If we stretch ourselves too thin, they will recapture the towns we have left in our train, and encircle us."

"Prime Minister!" a royal page called out excitedly. "Telegram for you."

Sheffield received the envelope from him, tore it open, and smiled as he read it through.

"A blessed autumn, Freeman," he said. "The wire is from Lieutenant-Colonel Eramond of the CSF – Commander of the Rough Riders. Unity Isle has been delivered from the War Hawks, and is now secure. He has obtained a release from his commanding officer, Stein, and awaits further instructions."

"Good grief!" Freeman exclaimed. "Get him back here at once, and send him along with a full fleet then! We need our Queen back, not to mention the Prince Consort."

"As you wish, General," Fairfax said with a smile. As the three men left the room, the Queen Mother hung her head.

"I am sorry, Rochelle," she said. "No good can come of this."

"Don't worry, Your Majesty," she said soothingly. "As Aramondrius once said, we know what we want, but God knows what we need."

xxx

It was over two months since Carranya and the Prince Consort had been taken to Caledonia, and they were being detained in a dungeon – if one could call it that, for it was quite well furnished and spacious. Their needs were seen to by a series of polite, but grim-faced, domestics, and from time to time, a physician would come and visit them both – an event necessitated by the fact that both of them, despite being on dry land, had continued to experience complaints of a gastric nature.

"It must be our good Zion food you're not used to," the physician would say, as he prescribed a deep blue potion to them. "This will fix you up." He would examine them both regularly, in the strictest privacy, and depart with a chuckle.

The medicine certainly did have its effects, as the two of them both put on the weight they had lost during their sea journey. It was a strange honeymoon for the Duke and his young bride, but his enquiries regarding their future were met with curt replies.

"It is not yet time," the domestics would reply. "He will call you when he is ready."

To Carranya, they would not even say so much – rather, they looked at her commiseratingly.

One day, a man in the outfit of a Zion noble, wearing a diadem on his forehead, visited them as they were breakfasting. With him was the physician, and he smiled at them politely.

"I think you have served our purpose well enough, Duke Marksmith," the man said. "I am Hunermann, Chairman of the Council of Viceroys. As for Doctor Heigel, you already know him."

"What do you mean?" the Duke said nervously.

"Do not worry, my lord," Carranya said, standing beside him. "Good morning, Lord Hunermann. Are we to obtain an audience with the Emperor, or is he still occupied?"

"Such impatience," Hunermann said, unnerved by her calm. "Your Lordship, I request you to kindly leave the room. I must speak to Her Majesty in person."

"Why should I?" Marksmith said, half embarrassed, half defiant.

"Indeed," Queen Carranya replied. "Whatever you say may be said to both of us."

Hunermann glared at both of them, and the Duke quailed under his look. "Do not presume upon my patience," he said. "You may speak to your wife later. Leave."

At this last word, two Zion officers – one of them Shimura – appeared behind him. Marksmith swallowed nervously, then left.

"Don't be afraid," Carranya reassured him.

"Now, Your Majesty," Hunermann said, as they sat down at the dining-table, "you are a very fortunate person indeed. Our ruler, the Emperor Charlemagne, has requested an audience with you. The audience will be two weeks from now, on the evening of the New Moon. I suggest you prepare yourself."

"Prepare myself?" Carranya shook her head. "In what way? Are you asking me to surrender to him?"

"Not quite," Hunermann replied. "During our last visit, my good friend Heigel took samples of blood from both of you. You may be amused to know the results of his tests."

"Interested, perhaps," Carranya said gently, "but why should I be amused?"

"This test, Your Majesty, was developed in our laboratories quite recently – thought the Varald mock our science, they underestimate it. Your husband's sample was what we call a control – a test that we know will be negative, used to ensure that our chemicals are in good condition. Yours was positive."

"Positive for the plague?" Carranya drew in her breath sharply, but the gaze she turned on the Chairman was steady. "I am not afraid of that. _Our_ scientists have found a cure for it."

"Oh, no, not the plague," Hunermann said affably. "Allow me to congratulate you on producing an heir to the Lionheart dynasty."

Carranya stared at him, stunned. Only years of training and discipline kept her mouth from falling open. "I'm…."

"In the family way, as you Galvenians put it. Not that we didn't help the process. Our sea-sickness remedies have other interesting properties – and they certainly have done no harm to you, or to the Prince Consort. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"But why?" Carranya said softly. "Why did you…"

"Ah, it is an old story, Your Majesty," Hunermann explained, with a large smile on his face. "Let us just say that certain ceremonies require three guests: a man, a woman, and a child."

"Do you intend to detain me until I bring forth an heir?" Carranya said, outraged.

"Oh, no, Your Majesty, that would interfere with our schedule," he said, shaking his head. "Two weeks from now, remember? In fifteen days, the three of you will be delivered to our Emperor – yourself, your fool of a husband, and the remains of the last of the House of Lionheart."

Carranya's eyes widened in horror. "Remains?"

"Have you not noticed, Your Majesty, that the medicines we have been giving you in the last week have tasted a little different? As my good Heigel will tell you, the hands that can create can also destroy. At some time in the next two weeks – but certainly by then – you will miscarry, like the schemes and hopes of your foolish Kingdom of Galvenia. It will be painful, but do not worry, Heigel will look after you."

"No!" Carranya cried. "No, it cannot…."

"Once this necessary formality is completed, we will introduce you to the Emperor. He is fond of children, especially those who conveniently die and leave their Kingdom without an heir. We would have killed you, too," – he looked at the weeping girl in front of him with disdain – "but it will be far more entertaining to watch you die of despair and grief, far away from your home. Perhaps you would even do us the favour of going insane. That way, our hands remain clean."

"You demon!" Carranya said defiantly, trying to face him through her tears. "Is nothing sacred for you? Do you have a soul at all?"

"I merely obey the Emperor – or so I would like to believe," Hunermann said. "And now, I have told you all, Your Majesty. We will take the Duke to a separate apartment, and set him free by and by. I doubt he would be too enchanted to share his quarters with you once he hears the news in the first place – Galvenian dukes are so fastidious about damaged goods." He paused meaningfully over the last two words. "Good day, Your Majesty. It was a pleasure speaking to you."

Carranya did not reply. She remained slumped over the table, oblivious to what was happening around her, for a long while – she did not know how long. She could hear snatches of sound outside – the protestations of the Duke, the smooth voice of Hunermann – but they seemed strangely far away, as if taking place in another world. Her head spun, and her heart ached.

_Damaged goods._

_xxx_

"Back to Galvenia?" Henrik said, puzzled. "What's going on, Compadre?"

"Henrik, do me the favour of using my title when we're in the field, all right?" Ryan said firmly. "We have to lead an attack on Caledonia. The Queen has been taken there – it's been confirmed by our Intelligence men."

"On Caledonia?" Henrik whistled. "That's right in the heart of their territory, Sir. Even though we're encircling them, they'll fight like tigers."

"When I want your strategic advice, Lance-Corporal, I'll ask for it," Ryan said, but this time, it was clear that he was jesting. "Come on, let's move out."

After bidding farewell to their CSF comrades, the Galvenians embarked upon the _HMS George I, _bound for Caledonia.

"We'll be joined by men from Lorean, as well as a fleet of ships from the Royal Navy," Ryan explained in an emergency briefing below decks. "The ships will attack the harbour on the eastern side of Caledonia, and we'll quickly disembark, occupy the docks, and then have an uninterrupted route to the Castle of Hohenzollern. They're holding the Queen there."

"I only hope we're on time," Sergeant Wilson said.

"Let's think about that when we get there," Ryan said grimly. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and to his surprise, he saw a small symbol etched on it – two lines crossed, with a circle above them.

_The Chiasmus of Geraud? How did that get there?_ he wondered. _The mark looks old._

He showed it to Henrik, but the latter had no idea what it could represent, though he did point out that the Journeymen revered Geraud and may simply have been paying him homage.

Six days into their journey, Ryan received a message over the radio.

"Commander Eramond?" a pleasant voice said. "This is Commodore Reckland, Galvenian Royal Marines. We've sighted you, and we'll be joining you soon."

"Reckland? Lieutenant Reckland?" Ryan said, surprised. "You're back in the Marines?"

"I'm afraid so," Reckland replied. "And if you're listening, I have a message from a friend. She wishes you good fortune, and she misses you."

"A friend?" Ryan looked bemused. "Who might that be?"

"Oh, I'll tell you in person," Reckland joked.

_Must be Mum,_ Ryan thought. _But why would he kid me about it? Anyway, right now, there's only one person that matters. Carranya._

_Saint Geraud, help me. Please._

_He cannot, _the woman's voice replied. _He has done his part by bringing you this far, but you must obey me._

"Who are you?" Ryan muttered under his breath.

_I am the one who has guided your sword to victory. Listen to me, and your mission will not be in vain._

Ryan shook his head. "How do I know you're not the 'demon of Koroth', that Jason spoke about before he died?"

_Would a demon help the just, Ryan Aramondrius? Would a demon revere saintly men like Kaleb? Judge for yourself if your accusation is reasonable._

"That makes sense," Ryan said to himself, but he wondered…..

xxx

After an uneventful journey, the Galvenian ships – joined, as planned, by a Royal Naval fleet – drew close to Caledonia. It was seven days since Hunermann had spoken to the Queen, and she remained in her quarters, close to despair, hoping that somehow, his plans would fail. Though the Duke had wished to see her again, Hunermann had placed him under house arrest in another part of the castle,

_But even if they do,_ she thought, _what future is there for me? No, I must not think in that way. The message I left with Rochelle must have been read by now. Perhaps they will send someone in time._

_Someone….Ryan. Ryan…._

_Damaged goods._

_My child….my own child. I can't – I won't let you die._

She had refused every medicine that the smug-faced Heigel had offered her, and ate only enough to keep body and soul together. The nausea returned from time to time, but she welcomed it – it was a sign that her child and heir was still alive.

That evening, Hunermann paid her another visit.

"One week more, Your Majesty," he said. "It is a pity that we cannot wait longer. Perhaps, by then, you would feel the future King of Galvenia leaping in your womb – and then, taking him from you would be even more satisfying. Unfortunately, our schedule is fixed. One week. Do not think you can alter fate by refusing our potions. The damage is already done."

"You are wrong," Carranya wept. "Please be – so good as to leave me alone, Count Hunermann."

"Ah, back to formality, I see," he replied. "When you feel the pangs come upon you – and come they will – ring that little bell of yours." He pointed to a bell-pull immediately above her bed. "Heigel is at your beck and call. I could continue, but there is no joy in continuing to strike a broken opponent. Good day, Your Majesty."

"You will answer for what you have done!" Carranya said desperately. "Do not think that the Infinity will leave you unscathed."

"The Infinity?" Hunermann laughed. "The last I heard of him, he was not particularly fond of young women who are faithless to their vows. If I sail in that boat, Your Majesty, I will have you for company – and that thought cheers me more than I thought possible."

He turned and left. Carranya, close to despair, lay down on her bed and sobbed.

_Prince Derren, Lady Penelope, Lord Geraud – help me. Please. If I have done wrong, I am sorry. I only know that I love my child, I love my country, and I love Ryan Eramond. Save them, even if I must perish in the process._

And then it happened. She felt a kick – and a determined one at that – beneath her ribs.

_I must stay calm, _she thought, placing her hand over her side. _Mother always said that too much strain was bad for the heart…..Oh, Mother. If you knew, would you still love me? Or would I be damaged in your eyes?_

There was a second blow, and she flinched.

_I hope I'm not falling ill – No. Sweet Infinity, no!_

Hunermann's words had just come to her mind.

_The future King of Galvenia – leaping in my womb._

_But that's impossible. The Duke and I were married only three months ago. Even if I'm a naïve young woman, I do know that much of the facts of life._

Suddenly, the horror of it dawned on her, for even in the depths of despair, she could still think logically.

_Not the Duke's child._

_Ryan's child._

_Ryan…..Oh, Lady Penelope, no. Not Ryan's. Please. That would be too much to bear. To lose the only reminder I may have of Ryan…_

Suddenly, she rose from the bed, a determined look on her face.

_There must be some way to fight back, _she thought. It was a fleeting ray of light, and it passed, leaving her despairing again.

_But what about those potions? Have they done their mischief already?_

_Still, I cannot give up. I cannot surrender. What use are my words, if I cannot live up to them in adversity? Infinity, give me strength. I wish he were here with me._

_xxx_

"And that's the whole story," Doctor Sherman said, raising his glass of champagne and striking it lightly against Viola's. "It was serendipity, of course, but I don't know if it wasn't meant. The Old Man in the Sky has his methods. And we couldn't have done it without you."

Viola laughed. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, sipping her own glass. "It's strange that a small drop of blood could do so much good."

"Not only did we find a cure for the plague – from you, and from the others like you – but we were able to put away that scoundrel Thomssen. He's not going to harm anyone else in a hurry," Sir Cornelius said. "Mrs. Benise, you can rightly be proud of your daughter."

Olivia Benise, who was small and fair-haired like her daughter, smiled and blushed. "Well, every mother believes her daughter is special, Sir Cornelius," she replied, "but I suppose Viola surpasses that."

"Do you mean Thomssen created the sickness?" Viola said, shaking her head.

"He was working with Zion mages – using blood obtained from those with the gift, and combining it with harmless microbes, then testing them on animals until he found something virulent. Not a nice man," Sherman said disgustedly. "We're yet to test samples from the Varald, but we recently had a man from the Republic come in for testing, and it looks like more of the same, but with a slightly different microbe."

"We have informed the Varald and Fulton governments about this," Fairfax added, "and have pledged to supply them with the cure if they cannot manufacture it themselves. Fortunately, it is a simple process."

"Even more fortunately, the active principle – we're not sure what it is, though we're working on it – works at very high dilutions, meaning that we don't have to drain blood from you and your fellow mages for the rest of your life," Sherman went on. "Geller can explain it much better, but he's got a cold, poor man. He was afraid of our catching it."

"That's one less thing to worry about," Olivia said with a laugh. "It's such a lovely autumn this year, isn't it, Doctor? Almost enough to make you forget the war, the brain fever, and everything else."

"My only regret is that we couldn't find this out soon enough to save all of them," Sherman said somberly, thinking of Michelle. "But I must not be an ingrate. Now, if our Queen can be safely rescued, I would be perfectly content, war or not."

"I agree, Doctor," Viola said warmly. "Of course I wasn't at the coronation, but we did hear her speak on the radio, and her words inspired us all. I hope the brave men who have set out to save her complete their mission, and come back to us safely." She blushed.

Sherman raised his eyebrows, and his eyes met those of Olivia, who nodded and smiled. "Ah, I see what you mean," he said. "In the meantime, Colonel Rawley continues to lead our troops bravely, and our morale has not failed, despite their foul deed. We must hope for the best."

"But why would that man, Thomssen, work with the Zion? Who was he?" Viola asked, trying to change the topic.

"We're putting him through the grinder now, and he's told us a lot about his friends in Zion, except for two whom he refuses to name. Though we've been far from gentle with him, he seems more afraid of them than of us. All we know is that there are two: a man and a woman," Fairfax said grimly. "But trust us, we'll get to the bottom of it someday."

There was a knock at the door of the laboratory, and a thin man wrapped in a muffler and overcoat came in.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Is Sir Cornelius Fairfax here?"

"That would be me, my good man," Fairfax said kindly. "And who might you be?"

"Alex Robertson," he replied, "and I have information that may be of use to you."

xxx

The attack on the harbour on the eastern coast of Caledonia had begun in earnest, and every available ship that the Zion had available was pressed into combat. If they had not had surprise on their side, the Galvenians may well have been overpowered, but as it were, they triumphed – even though, for one fateful hour when the _HMS Amelia Flynn_ was sunk – it was touch and go.

_Now,_ the woman said. _Destroy them. They are the ones who took Carranya away._

With reckless abandon, Ryan and his men laid the docks waste, shocking Commodore Reckland. Neither civilian nor sailor was spared – even the women and children hiding behind the crates fell to the waves from his sword – and in less than an hour, the Rough Riders controlled the dockyard.

"Cover us," Ryan said, as Reckland and a horrified Henrik stared at each other. "We're heading straight for the castle."

"Ryan, what are you doing?" Henrik exclaimed, but he had already disappeared.

"He fights like the Varald," Reckland said ruefully. "With those sailors already shocked by our sinking the _Victory of Itaria_, we could have moved in without firing a shot."

"That's not the Ryan I remember," Henrik replied. "Sergeant Wilson and I will move in and guard their rear, but I wonder what's wrong with him."

"I wonder myself," Reckland said, finding his thoughts wander to Davenport, and to a conversation that had taken place the night before he left, several days ago.

"_Goodness," Emily Regale exclaimed. "Captain Reckland! I know you by sight, of course, but Lavie's told me about you, and so have Leah and David. They said you helped them get in to Galvenia in the first place. This is a pleasure."_

"_I merely helped them with their papers, ma'am," Reckland replied. "If you don't mind, can I speak to you and your daughter for a moment? It's important."_

"_To Lavie?" Emily asked._

_Reckland flushed. "This concerns both of you, ma'am," he replied. "It's about your husband – and another old friend of yours."_

"_Sigmund?" It was Emily's turn to blush. Despite his many defects, she was very fond of her husband, and his incarceration was a sore trial to her. "Please do come in, Captain."_

_A little later, Emily returned with Lavie, who brightened as soon as she saw him. "Are you still a Captain, or have you been promoted?" she asked._

"_It'll soon be 'Commodore'," Reckland said modestly, "at least as soon as I get my next mission. And that's part of why I came. We're heading to Caledonia, to try and rescue the Queen, and your friend Ryan Eramond will be joining us."_

"_Ryan?" Lavie looked embarrassed. "Is he all right?"_

"_Physically, yes, but I've heard stories among the men. He's a ruthless leader – kind and loyal to his men, but taking no prisoners. Compared to him, Prescott is an Itarian priest, and I'm an Itarian nun." He chuckled, and Lavie stifled a giggle at picturing the somber captain in a nun's habit. "I shall try my best to ensure his success and keep him safe, but I thought you might like to know."_

"_Thank you, Commodore Reckland," Lavie said gently. "But what about Daddy?"_

"_Mrs. Regale," Reckland said slowly, "am I wrong in assuming that, despite marrying a commoner, you still have friends and contacts among the nobility?"_

"_To some extent," Emily replied with a smile. "Some of the more snobbish of them did give us the cold shoulder, but my mother and father's families remained loyal."_

"_Then, if you can, pull as many strings as possible," Reckland said urgently, "for your sake, and for L – Miss Lavie's. He is not safe."_

_Lavie gasped. "What do you mean?" she whispered._

"_We pick up a lot of gossip at the recruitment office – and in the pub," he admitted. "People tend to talk too much when they're pickled, and there are rumours that Sigmund Regale is holding on to a secret that some people in Lorean are nervous about."_

"_Actually," Lavie blurted out, then stopped._

"_Miss Lavie, do you know anything about this?" Reckland said with alarm._

"_I – I think so," she replied._

"_Lavender Regale!" Emily said, surprised. "Really! What has your father been telling you?"_

"_It was just before he left, Mom," Lavie said in a low tone. "It was when Mr. Evens died. He gave me something to hide, and Daddy told me that it was something important, which I shouldn't tell anyone about."_

_Reckland started. "The day we evacuated Mann Island – I remember. You're resourceful, Miss Lavie."_

_Lavie smiled. "You're full of compliments today, aren't you, Commodore? But Mom, if this is true, we need to do something right away! Can you help?" She looked at Reckland helplessly._

"_I certainly can try," Reckland replied. "One of the prison superintendents is an old friend of mine, so I can have a look right away, and maybe persuade him In the meantime, do not speak of this to anyone, Miss Lavie, except perhaps your mother. We do not know who is trustworthy."_

"_You are," Lavie said simply, a light flush coming to her cheeks. "Thank you, Commodore Reckland. Please try your best."_

The guard around Sigmund Regale had been strengthened as a result, and one of the janitors, found to be carrying a knife when heading for his cell, had been suspended and remanded to custody. Still, he was worried. Not so much for Sigmund, whom he knew only slightly – but for _her._

_I wonder how much she cares for Eramond, _he wondered, then stopped himself. She was a wealthy man's daughter – besides, she was young enough to be _his_ daughter. Thinking along those lines could do him no good.

"Lieutenant, are you all right?" Henrik said with concern.

"Oh – just thinking about someone," Reckland replied, embarrassed.

"I know what you mean," Henrik said sympathetically. "I do that from time to time. My dad's at home alone, and there's someone else, too."

Reckland laughed. In contrast to Ryan's impassive exterior, he found Henrik's transparency refreshing. "That young nurse at Lorean? She's a fine girl. I've met her several times, while arranging transfers for the men, and she's told me a bit about you. I've heard that she helped Doctor Sherman find a cure for the plague."

Henrik smiled. "I've heard that, too. Will you be returning to Lorean now?"

"Three of our ships will stay behind, Lance-Corporal, and the rest of us will head back to Serin's Peak," he said. "Good fortune."

"Thank you, Commodore," Henrik said, as he and his men began to secure the docks, and to come to the aid of those whom Ryan himself had injured.

xxx

Ryan and his men circled the Fortress of Hohenzollern, which seemed strangely quiet. There were no soldiers in sight, except for three guards at the gate.

"They haven't heard yet," he said. "Still, be careful. Move in slowly."

As the first group of his men approached, the sound of footsteps drew closer.

"Fall back!" Ryan said. "If they thought they could get us with an ambush, they're mistaken! Grenades at the ready."

The Rough Riders' riflemen fired, and the group attacking them from the rear scattered. Drawing the short sword that Jason had given him, Ryan raised it to the sky. A strong gust of wind cut across the Zion men, blinding them with a whirl of dust. Drawing his rifle, he began to fire calmly.

"Finish the rest of them," he instructed the two sergeants with him. "We'll go in. The rest of you, stay back and guard the exit."

A further grenade was launched at the gate of the castle, exploding and knocking the three guards into the water. In a flash, Ryan – followed by the bulk of the Rough Riders – charged into the castle.

The hallways were empty, except for two snipers hiding on a staircase above them. As they fired, felling one of Ryan's men, he drew the longer sword and slashed forward. A ball of light struck them both, and they fell from the railing, lying still at his feet.

_Carranya,_ he thought, the light bringing back memories of the only time they had actually fought together, on the _Paradiso. I'll find you soon._

_She may be in a high tower, Ryan Aramondrius,_ the woman said.

Impulsively, he began to head for a staircase, when he saw a sight that chilled him – a man in a doctor's coat, carrying a black bag, and accompanied by a woman in white, bearing a bowl of water and a towel. They descended a staircase, which seemed to lead into a basement or dungeon.

_She could be ill!_ Ryan thought. _They're trying to keep her alive so that they can blackmail us._ Making his mind up rapidly, he signaled to his men, and began to follow them at a distance. They descended down a longer, winding stairway, until they came to a corridor which opened onto several rooms.

_She must be here,_ Ryan thought. "Cover all the doors," he hissed. "If anyone comes out, except the Queen, take them down and question them."

Even as he spoke, he heard the sound of sobbing. The man in the doctor's coat and his companion disappeared into one of the rooms, and a man in the uniform of a Zion private came out.

Without a moment's hesitation, Ryan leapt at him and caught him from behind, grabbing his neck in a vice-like grip.

"You have exactly one minute to tell me where the Princess is," he whispered.

"In….there," he said hoarsely. Ryan threw him to the ground roughly, then drew his short sword, and slashed at the air. Beams of red light shot out of both sides of the blade, and the man screamed, then lay still.

Instantly, the doctor appeared at the door. "What was…" he began, then froze, as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"What are you doing to the Princess?" Ryan said, hatred in his eyes.

"Guards!" the man stammered. He raised his hand, but before he could speak any further, Ryan fired at point blank range, hitting him in the eye. He screamed and rolled on the ground, then lay still, breathing slowly and with effort.

"Clear the entire room!" Ryan said. "Leave no one alive, except the Queen – and the Prince Consort, if he is here. Waters, inform the rest of the men that we're here. Block the corridor. We're not leaving without her."

As he and his men entered the room, the woman in the white dress screamed and dropped her basin of water. With a smile on his face, Ryan fired at her, shattering her kneecap. As she fell to one knee, two of his men caught hold of her and bound her hand and foot.

Sitting on the bed, a grave expression on his face, was Jacob Lugner.

"You!" Ryan rushed forward, his sword drawn. "Jason warned me about you. What have you done to Carranya?"

"I?" Lugner shook his head. "Easy does it there, boy. Jason always was an idealist, and it was his undoing. I've pretended to play along with the Zion, but only so that I can be in at the death."

"Where is Carranya?" Ryan said insistently.

"Tsk, tsk. Such power, and in such irresponsible hands," Lugner said, looking warily at Ryan's sword. "They have just taken her through the Portal. I was too late to stop them. If you wish, I can unlock it for you, but on one condition."

"The Portal?"

"Only a man truly driven by a cause can enter it," Lugner went on. "Your men cannot. They are driven by duty, nothing else. If your intentions are pure – whether for good or for evil – then I will let you in. She is also there, awaiting her fate. Once you are inside, you are on your own."

"That's a chance I'll take," Ryan said. "Let me in, Lugner."

Lugner drew his sword and aimed it at the fireplace, where a log was burning. A strong gust of wind blew it out, and the log fragmented into glowing embers. The fireplace deepened, and seemed to lead into a deep tunnel – a dark road that led nowhere.

"Draw your weapon, boy," Lugner said, "and make your choice wisely."

_My choice? _Ryan looked at the two swords at his belt, when the symbol on the hilt of the longer one caught his eye. _This must be it._ Drawing it, he watched as the tunnel's walls lit up with a white light.

"I am disappointed, Ryan," Lugner said, addressing him by his name for the first time. "Still, it is your choice. Follow the path, and you will find what you seek."

With a nod and a brief smile, Ryan disappeared into the tunnel, while Lugner sat back down on the bed, unconcerned by the bemused troop of Galvenian soldiers who were facing him.

"What just happened?" one of them asked, finally.

"What ought to be," Lugner replied. "Wait around, for this may take a while."

xxx

As soon as he entered the tunnel, Ryan found himself surrounded by darkness again. He could hear nothing, except a faint sound of dripping water. Straining his ears, he felt as if he could hear words – words spoken in a woman's voice, in a tone of despair.

…_.love me?_

…_goods…_

…_mother…_

…_child…_

"Show yourself!" Ryan said, drawing his sword. However, as much as he willed it, it would not yield any light.

_Lord Geraud,_ he said silently, _if you're there, please show me how to find Carrie. Please._

Almost at once, the answer came in the old man's serene voice.

_She is calling to you, boy. Follow your heart._

He began to move forward, hesitantly at first, then confidently. As he moved deeper into the tunnel, the words became clearer.

_Mother…do you still love me?_

_Damaged goods…_

_I may be a worthless mother….but I still love my child…_

_Ryan…._

"Carrie!" With a cry, he began to run forward, all doubt dispelled from his mind, until he came up against a solid wall.

"Lugner's not the only Journeyman around here," he said, drawing the long sword. With a forward slash, the wall lit up and then crumbled, and he found himself in an ordinary room – one exactly like the one in which he had met Lugner. Lying on the bed, curled up, with her face buried in the pillow, was Carranya.

Ryan rushed to her side, and knelt beside the bed.

"Carrie," he said gently, "It's me, Ryan. Don't cry. I've found you, and Infinity help me, I'll get you out of here."

"You can't, Ryan," she wept, shaking her head. "It's too late. In a few hours, the doctor will come, and once he has – finished, they will take me to the Emperor. There's nothing we can do now."

"What do you mean, Carrie? I'm here beside you. Even if we have to face the Emperor, or any of his lackeys, I will fight them."

She said nothing, but buried her head against his shoulder. After a few moments, slowly, brokenly, she told him.

Ryan turned pale. "Are you sure?" he said, disbelievingly. _My – no, our child. Mine – and Carranya's. This is…._

"It could not – be otherwise," she whispered. Slowly, Ryan lifted her up, and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "And Doctor Heigel said that, if it was not – not over by tonight, he would…make sure that it was."

"I'll kill him," Ryan said calmly.

"Ryan!" Carranya exclaimed, then shook her head. "That won't do any good. Even if we stop him, their medicine – may already have poisoned our child, Ryan. I can't even feel him move that often. Oh, Ryan…."

"Carrie…" he began.

"The nightmares have come back, Ryan," she went on, helplessly. "I can't escape my past. Damaged goods, Ryan. It's true…"

"It's a lie!" Ryan said firmly, trying desperately to think of the right thing to say. "It's all an evil lie. I'll prove it to you."

"Thank you, Ryan, my love," she replied – and even the endearment chilled him, as he saw the state she was in, and though he held her to him and tried to comfort her, his own mind was far from calm.

_Destroy them. Destroy the monsters. The Zion are not human. I will not treat them as human any longer._

He looked at his sword. _Is there nothing I can do?_

_We have the power to help ourselves, boy,_ the elderly man's voice retorted. _Sometimes we have to do things ourselves. You cannot always be a saviour._

Ryan swore inwardly. _Leave me alone, old man. What good can your sermons do now?_

_The hands that can destroy can also create._

Ryan stifled an oath, then looked at his sword.

_Destroy and create, _he thought. _The blade is a weapon, but even surgeons use the blade. As they did when they fixed my wounds._

Like a flash of lightning, it struck him.

"Carrie!" he said sharply, taking hold of her shoulders and looking her in the eye. "Carrie, listen to me! I have the answer."

"Ryan, you don't have to…." Carranya said softly.

"Listen to me!" He was no longer addressing the Queen of Galvenia, but his fellow soldier on the battlefield. "You can do this yourself! You have the gift, too. Use it!"

"The gift?"

"Remember how you healed my wounds, Carrie!" He was almost drunk with the realization that the solution was in her own hands. "Use those powers on yourself – or rather, on your child – on _our_ child!"

Carranya stared at him in amazement. "Do – do you really think it will work, Ryan?"

"Of course!" he replied. "For all our sakes, Carrie, you have to try! I believe you can. Have a little faith…"

Closing her eyes, Carranya placed her hands over her waist. She began to tremble, but Ryan held on to her, and after several minutes – minutes which were among the longest in Ryan's life – she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Ryan," she said, "I – it worked. I can't believe it!"

"Believe it, Carrie," Ryan said. He placed a hand over her sash, and received a vigorous kick in reply. "He's a chip off the old block, that's for sure!"

Carranya blushed, and beamed at him. "But – what will we do now, Ryan?" she replied, placing her hand over his.

"Don't worry," he said. "Let's wait for your Doctor. I have a plan."

Night fell, and the Rough Riders guarding the Castle of Hohenzollern waited anxiously. No further Zion troops had been sighted, but without their leader, they felt strangely alone – and, though they dared not admit it – afraid.

Within the Portal, Ryan waited behind the door of Queen Carranya's room, ready to strike.

As the door swung open and Doctor Heigel entered, he walked slowly towards Carranya, a smile on his face. "Ah, you groan," he said. "Have the pains commenced?"

"They're….terrible," Carranya replied, bent double and moaning loudly. "Please….do something, Doctor."

Rubbing his gloved hands together, Heigel moved forward – and was thrown to the ground, a blast of red light searing his hands. The leather of his gloves was scorched, and large blisters began to form on his palms. He cried out in pain, but before he knew what was happening, Ryan had thrown a bedsheet around his face, and gagged him.

"Listen to me, you murderer," he said, pushing him against the wall with the butt of his rifle. "You are going to do exactly as I say, if you do not want your brains to decorate the floor of this room."

Heigel glared and him and shook his head.

"Fool," Ryan replied. "You ought to have listened to me." Pointing his sword at the doctor's face, he closed his eyes and thrust forward.

Heigel screamed, though none could hear him. The pain was like a bomb exploding within his nose, his mouth, his entire skull, and he fell to the ground, tears of agony in his eyes.

"If you want," Ryan replied, "we can continue this little game for a few more hours. You seem like a tough customer to me."

Doctor Heigel waved his hands frantically, then hung his head. Ryan ripped the gag away from him, and backed him up against the wall again, the muzzle of his gun pointing at the doctor's throat.

"That's more reasonable," he said. "If you're a good boy, I'll ask the Queen to heal you – she's so magnanimous that she just might, unless I stop her." He smiled – a cruel smile – then slapped the Doctor with his gloved hand. "Now listen to me. When the time comes to visit your Emperor, or Viceroy, or whoever the Clown-in-Chief is around here, you will carry your little jug back with you." He pointed to the metal urn that Heigel had dropped when the first blow struck him. "You will take us to him, and we will manage things from there."

Terror in his eyes, the doctor nodded mutely. Ryan shoved him to the ground, then tied his hands and feet, and sat down calmly in a chair.

Carranya shivered and let out a sigh of relief. "Is he wounded?" she whispered.

"Not seriously," Ryan said. "Now, let's wait."

A little later, a guard arrived at the door of their room, calling out for Doctor Heigel. A shot rang out, and his sentence died in his throat as he fell, bleeding from a neck wound. Quickly, Ryan stripped off the man's outer armour and exchanged it for his own.

"Lead the way, Doctor," he said, with a firm grip on the hapless Heigel's shoulder. Walking slowly, hesitantly, he led Ryan and Carranya into a larger passageway, holding his metal urn to his chest. After what seemed like over a mile, they found themselves in a large room, whose walls glowed with the same red light as the cave near Victoria. There was a single chair in the room, and on it sat a man – tall, vigorous, but clearly advanced in years. Only traces of his original yellow hair showed among the thick strands of silver, and a coronet was perched on his head.

Standing next to him, at his left and right hands respectively, were Pontiff Maximillian and the Duke of Marksmith. At his feet, transfixed with a sword, was the corpse of a Zionese nobleman. Carranya, recognizing him as Hunermann, shuddered.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," the man said, raising his hand to reveal a large scepter, studded with diamonds. "I have been waiting for this moment for decades now."

"Who are you, that you should wait for me?" Carranya said defiantly. "I do not know you."

"You speak wisely, Queen Carranya, for the pictures of a decrepit old man, propped up by Maximillian and the Viceroys, may have given you the wrong impression. But that is all in the past. Emperor Charlemagne Valtemond of Zion welcomes you, my young fellow monarch."

"Charlemagne?" Carranya exclaimed, while Ryan tried not to betray his surprise. "What do you want with me?"

"Only what rightfully belongs to me, Your Majesty," Charlemagne said with a smile, as a petrified Heigel mechanically laid the urn at his feet, next to the late Hunermann's head. "Welcome to the sacrifice, Queen Carranya."

xxx


	22. Chapter 21: Confrontation

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**  
_**Confrontation**_

**REGALE, SIGMUND (C.Y. 253-303)**_...With a record of two imprisonments, an exile, struggles with illness and alcoholism, and at least one rumoured attempt on his life, Sigmund Regale was often viewed both by friends and enemies as the proverbial cat with nine lives, nearly impossible to confound or to kill. This mercurial and intelligent man, a founding father of Galvenian capitalism during the traditional monarchy, evoked strong emotions until the very end of his life – and despite the many enemies he made, his wife and his daughter remained his staunchest supporters. The stories that his death was hastened by poison (cf. THOMSSEN, EUGENE – TRIAL OF) have been considered plausible by researchers, though they remain unproven to this day. Similarly, his rumoured involvement in counter-espionage during the Terran War must be viewed agnostically – he may certainly have played his part, but no official records exist…_

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"A sermon, by the Infinity," Sigmund Regale said teasingly. "I thought spies and traitors were exempt from prison ministry, my lady."

"It is the duty of every member of the Church to visit those who are most in need of mercy," Lady Rochelle Anton said. "Besides, your wife asked me to pay you this visit."

"You're a friend of Emily's?" Sigmund smiled. "I don't remember seeing you before, but then Emily has so many friends that I can't keep track of every tea-party they have, Lady Rochelle. How may I help you?"

"Please do not jest, Mr. Regale," she said gravely. "You have heard, perhaps, of the arrest of Eugene Thomssen, the traitor and false man of God." Her voice trembled with indignation.

"Yes, I have," Sigmund replied darkly, "and a worse scoundrel would be hard to find. The papers say that he even played a part in spreading that fever among our children. What of him?"

"The word is out at Lorean Castle that he had something to do with the Queen's disappearance – and that one of his allies is still at large," Lady Anton replied. "I have heard it said that you know something of this."

Sigmund raised his eyebrows. "I see that Palace gossip, unlike most gossip, is accurate, my lady. But what is that to you? Are you also, despite your appearance, involved in some form of Intelligence work?" He chuckled.

"Good heavens, no," Lady Rochelle said nervously. "But if you do have such information, a word in the right place may save us more turmoil – and secure your freedom, Mr. Regale."

Sigmund leaned back in his chair and laughed. "I've got to hand it to Emily," he said. "She certainly is leaving no stone unturned. But honestly, Lady Rochelle, I have no information myself. One of my collaborators did, but he died before he could tell me what he knew."

"That is unfortunate," Lady Rochelle said, shaking her head. "However, if you do happen to recall anything, please let me know. I may be a mere woman, but I am loyal to my friends." She smiled at Sigmund, and extended her hand to him.

"Well, in the unlikely event that this happens, I'll take you up on that offer, my lady," he replied, as they shook hands. As she began to leave his cell, she suddenly turned back.

"Oh, I almost forgot – Emily asked me to pass this on to you," she said with a slight frown, handing him a large bottle. "She told me you were fond of it."

"Ah, my lady, you look at me disapprovingly – but there are few alive – man, woman or child – who can resist my wife's cider," Sigmund replied, uncorking the bottle and sniffing it appreciatively. "Good day, my lady."

"Good day to you, Mr. Regale," Lady Rochelle said. "I shall keep you in my prayers."

xxx

"Sacrifice?" Queen Carranya said, looking steadily at the Emperor. "What do you speak of?"

"Look at me, Your Majesty," Charlemagne said pleasantly, rising from his throne and walking slowly towards her. "As far as the world is concerned, I am a dying man, whose recovery is but a false dawn. Look at me, and realize that the world is populated by fools. It is glorious – a power beyond one's imagination, Your Majesty. A power beyond the Pool which your feeble Infinity gives his weak-kneed followers."

"Your Highness," Carranya replied, shaking her head, "there is no power greater than that of the Infinity. Even if some of his followers are corrupted, it is because he has given them freedom to serve or to rebel."

"Ah, you are young," Charlemagne said indulgently. "And your bravado makes me suspect that the loss of your child has already pushed you into the abyss of madness – only a madwoman would speak so confidently when all her hopes have been shattered. Heigel, open the jar."

Heigel, more dead than alive, opened the jar and handed it to Charlemagne. As he peered curiously into it, Ryan quietly drew his short sword, and the jar exploded into a mist of green smoke. Charlemagne winced – then looked up with a surprised smile. His face, to Carranya's horror, seemed to be reforming before her eyes, the angry red burns caused by the smoke slowly healing as if new skin was being laid on them, like wallpaper on a wall.

"There is no need to be in such a hurry, guard," Charlemagne said in a jesting tone. "I know I asked you to destroy it, but…" He paused, and looked at the remnants of the jar, his smile suddenly turning into a scowl.

"Heigel," he said softly, "what is the meaning of this?"

Heigel fell at the Emperor's knees in supplication. "Your Highness, forgive me," he pleaded. "It was that man! Him! He's a demon!" Raising his hand, he pointed his finger frantically at Ryan.

"The guard?" Charlemagne's voice was contemptuous. "He is a pawn, not a demon."

"And that's where you're wrong," Ryan said firmly, drawing his sword and thrusting forward at Heigel, who fell flat on his face, a bleeding wound in his left side. "Whoever you are, I'm taking you down."

Charlemagne raised his sceptre, and Ryan found himself pushed back against the wall, though he managed to remain standing with great effort. "Correction, dog," Charlemagne replied. "This is most interesting. Who are you, and who bribed you to betray me?"

"I take bribes from no man," Ryan said proudly. "I serve Galvenia and my Queen."

Charlemagne shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "The – the son of Aramondrius? You?"

"You're cleverer than I thought," Ryan said, casting aside the Zion armour he had temporarily assumed. "Now, what's all this raving about a sacrifice?"

With an effort, Charlemagne regained his composure. "Ah, it is a most interesting ritual, my Journeyman friend," he replied, taking several steps backwards. "You see, the Master promised me that I would reign forever over our two nations – and avenge the humiliation of my noble ancestor, Johan the Great, at the hands of you Galvenian dogs. Not just you, but the whole of Terra – every nation that dares to oppose the might of the Zion. We have already destroyed the Varald and the fools of Fulton, and Itaria is an empty shell. Only your nation remains."

"And we shall remain," Carranya replied. "Whatever you may have planned, Your Highness, you have failed."

"Failed? I, fail because a weak-willed doctor was afraid of a Galvenian stripling with a sword? Listen to me, Queen Carranya. My Master will receive his sacrifice. The Queen – the Prince Consort – and your child and heir. The last man, woman, and child of the Lionheart dynasty. With these offered to Him, I will live forever."

"You're mad," Ryan said calmly. "No man can live forever. That's a pipe dream."

"Is that so, my friend?" Charlemagne said contemptuously. "Maximillian, enlighten him."

"At the new moon," Pontiff Maximillian said nervously, "when the last of the House of Lionheart is assembled before the Emperor, he shall destroy their succession. The…..false leader, her consort, and the false prophet…..shall be no more. That is…..the prophecy."

"You, a man of God, say such things?" Carranya said severely.

"Ah, Your Majesty, but what is God?" Charlemagne shot back. "The feeble old deity of in the Itarian churches, who allows his precious creation to be devastated by plague and war? Or the God who grants power, glory and immortality to those who serve him at all costs? Come, Queen Carranya, I will make you an offer. Give me the child's life, and you can reign as my vassal. Perhaps you, too, will be rewarded by Him."

"Your God is a false one," Carranya retorted. "I will never serve you."

"Then allow me to do what Heigel failed to do," Charlemagne said fiercely. Pointing his sceptre at the Queen's abdomen, he closed his eyes, but as a red beam shot forth from it, Ryan flung himself in its path, and it was deflected to all points of the compass. A stray beam struck Maximillian, who began to twitch and fell to one knee.

Pain shot through Ryan like the stings of a thousand sharp, hot needles, but he forced himself to remain upright.

_For Carranya. For our child._

Drawing his sword, he slashed at Charlemagne, opening up a large wound on his neck. Blood spurted forth from it for a split second – and then, just as had happened with the burns, the wound began to close itself.

"Attack me as much as you want, boy," Charlemagne said between clenched teeth. "Your rage, your despair, only feeds my Master's purpose. See for yourself that I do not lie. Marksmith, why do you remain silent? Do you not care for your succession? Shall I dispatch you first, and then take care of your scion?"

"That was not what you told me!" the Duke said frantically. "You told me that I could go free, if I left them both to you…."

"You miserable coward!" Ryan screamed. With a quick movement, though his arm continued to sting with pain, he swung his sword at the Duke, who collapsed to the ground, blood running down his face. "Is that all she means to you?"

"Ryan, no!" Carranya cried out.

Ryan forced himself to stand upright. "Come, Charlemagne," he said. "If you must strike a deal with the father of the Queen's child, at least speak to the right person," he said, spitting out the words. "Face me."

Charlemagne's eyes widened in horror.

"She – she lied to me!" he exclaimed. "She assured me…."

_I now serve you, Ryan Aramondrius, not him, _the woman's voice said. _Kill the Duke. He does not deserve to live. You can have the same powers as Charlemagne if you obey my words._

Ryan looked at the terrified, confused Duke, then at Carranya's grave, beautiful face. Time stood still as he looked around him – at the Emperor's dismay, at Lugner's cold contempt, at Maximillian's agony. Finally, he shook his head. "Now I see what Lord Geraud meant," he said. "Depart from me, woman, you and your sword." Taking his short sword, he hurled it at Charlemagne's feet, where it lay still. "You will tempt me no longer. Take it, Charlemagne. I have no use for it."

"Then it is to be a fight to the death, Journeyman," Charlemagne said angrily, picking up the sword. "I will sacrifice you and your child instead of the Duke, and my Master will reward me."

"Carranya, stay down!" Ryan said, pushing her out of the way as Charlemagne lunged forward with the sword. Moving in closer, he parried the Emperor's second blow, but the Emperor feinted to the right, and then ran his sword through the unfortunate Duke of Marksmith.

"My lord!" Carranya said with horror. As he withdrew his sword, the Emperor's entire appearance began to change. The silver fell away from his hair, the lines on his face receded, and he began to resemble his late heir, the unfortunate Prince Wilhelm.

"You cannot stop me now, Journeyman," Charlemagne said, parrying Ryan's blow. "For this, I have sacrificed everything. My son, Koketsu, the men you killed at Koroth. You have served me well, Journeyman, when you unleashed that plague. You are a worthy son of Kaleb and Samath, who also coveted her power."

"I –" Ryan stared at him in horror, realizing the full import of the Emperor's words. The momentary hesitation was enough, and Charlemagne thrust at him with all his might. The blade pierced his side, and he fell to his knees, making desperate attempts to shield the Princess, who was leaning against the wall.

Charlemagne laughed. "I ought to kill you now, Journeyman, but I think I will let you live, at least until I kill the child," he said. "But perhaps I can amuse myself a little. Lugner, do what you must!"

Jacob Lugner advanced on the Princess, his sword drawn. Ryan reached for his sword, which had been knocked out of his hands by the force of Charlemagne's last blow, but it was too far away.

"I'm sorry, boy," Lugner said. "Console yourself with the fact that men cannot wrestle with the gods."

Before he could say anything more, Ryan's arm suddenly moved upwards, and there was a deafening explosion as a grenade struck the vault of the room. Rubble fell all around the room, and the red glow was obscured for several long minutes by clouds of dust and smoke.

Carranya closed her eyes.

_If I must die,_ she thought, crawling closer to Ryan, _let me die near him. Holding him. Ryan, I will not leave you._

Then the glow reappeared, and she saw to her amazement that Ryan – despite his wound – was standing, facing the Emperor. Lugner lay buried under several large stones, a large wound over his head.

"There's more to the battle than just the fight, Charlemagne," Ryan said, a defiant smile on his face. "The Colonel taught me to always remember that. Your lackey is gone."

"Foolish boy, you are dying yourself," Charlemagne said. "Even if you attack me, I shall simply be healed by the Master."

"I refuse to believe that," Ryan said, as his sword crossed Charlemagne's. "Now defend yourself!"

The two men fought fiercely, but every time Ryan thought he was landing a decisive blow, he felt as if it was being deflected by an invisible coat of armour.

"We can do this until you are weary," Charlemagne said. "Unlike me, you cannot live forever. Even if it takes days, months, or years, only one of us can leave here alive."

_There must be a way,_ Ryan thought, as he parried the Emperor's blow and pushed him back. _But how?_

_Lord Geraud._

_That's it!_ Slashing rapidly in several directions, he traced two diagonal lines crossing each other over the Emperor's armour, noting the terror on Charlemagne's face.

"What – what is this?" he stammered.

"Your ancestor had some valuable advice for me," Ryan said calmly. Whirling his blade around until it had described a small circle, he put all his strength into one last thrust, and the blade sank deep into the Emperor's ribs. He collapsed to the ground, his eyes closing as he fell.

"The Chiasmus of Geraud," Ryan said, withdrawing the long sword. "I ought to have realized it sooner."

"You….cannot triumph….boy…" Charlemagne gasped, clawing at the stone pavement beneath him. "Even if it takes aeons for me to heal…..I can heal….The Consort will heal me."

"Ryan…."

He whirled around sharply. It was Lugner who had spoken – though his voice was little more than a faint whisper.

"Ryan….you must leave….you and Carranya….but she must finish him first…"

"No!" Charlemagne screamed. "Lugner, you traitor! Do not tell him!"

"Ryan….forgive me…..always envied you…..unlike Jason….Jason was the happy one," Jacob Lugner gasped, drawing long, painful breaths. "Don't….let me die in vain, Ryan…..destroy the Consort…."

"The Consort? Who is she?" Ryan said urgently.

There was a faint gurgle in Lugner's throat, and he lay still.

"Ryan," Carranya said faintly, as she rushed towards him, her hands going to the wound in his side. "Oh, Ryan…"

"Lugner….He said you had to finish him, Carrie," Ryan said, holding on to her, as he felt the bleeding cease. "But….how?"

_Remember the Commonwealth, Ryan,_ the old man's voice said. _Hatred breeds more hatred. Someone has to break the circle._

"Break the circle?" Ryan shook his head. "But how?"

"I heard him too, Ryan," Carranya said suddenly, and suddenly, a serene smile appeared on her face. "And I think I understand."

Walking steadily up to Charlemagne, she placed her hands over his head.

"What are you doing?" Ryan said, eyes wide with horror.

"Emperor Charlemagne," Carranya said softly, "I shall heal you."

Charlemagne screamed – a loud, unearthly shriek that Ryan would never forget, not until the day he died. "No! _No!_ The Master will never forgive me….."

"I do," Carranya replied, a tear running down her cheek. "Why seek damnation, Emperor Charlemagne? Be healed."

A flash of white light surrounded the Emperor, and when it ebbed away, Charlemagne was once more a frail old man, his face covered with lines of pain.

"There is always time to do the right thing," she said gently.

"Curse you!" Charlemagne muttered feebly. "You have cursed me to live in this decrepit, deceased body, abandoned by my Master! What more do I have?"

Maximillian, who had watched this entire scene in silence, suddenly rose to his feet and moved forward. Closing his eyes, he stood over Charlemagne's prone form and prayed fervently. After a few moments, he shook his head.

"He will live," he said, "and may the Infinity forgive me my many sins. But Lugner was right. We must find and destroy the Consort, or he will never know peace. Come, children, allow me to lead the way."

"You?" Ryan said suspiciously.

"Ryan, trust him," Carranya said, leaning on his arm for support, and placing her hands over his side. As his own pain ebbed away, he looked at the remorse-filled countenance of the Zion priest, and nodded.

"Very well," he said. "How do we get out of here?"

Maximillian pushed the Emperor's chair down to the ground angrily, revealing a dark tunnel much like the one through which they had entered the room. "This is the Portal that leads out of here, and it leads back to Galvenia, where the Consort lives. Make haste, my children, for the Portal will soon close, now that Charlemagne no longer enjoys that demon's favours."

"And what about you?" Carranya said kindly. "Come with us."

"Carrie," Ryan said exasperatedly, "don't be absurd…"

"Please, Ryan," Carranya replied. "He has helped us, and we owe him something in return."

"Very well," Ryan said briefly. Taking hold of Carranya's hand, they descended into the Portal….

xxx

"Quickly!" Commodore Reckland said, anger and fear rising in his voice. "We may be too late! To Davenport Woods!"

"What's going on?" Lieutenant Huntington said, getting up from behind the recruitment desk.

"We've just received an emergency message from Lorean," Reckland replied, with uncharacteristic alarm. "Sigmund Regale has been poisoned, just hours before he was going to give important information to the Interior Minister, and we've received a tip-off that they may be after his wife and daughter!"

"Why not send the police?" Huntington said calmly.

"Damn it, Peter, we're soldiers!" Reckland replied. "We can't let innocent folks be harmed in this way. That's why you and I signed up in the first place. Besides, Fairfax has specifically asked us to look for her."

"Us?" Peter sprang up, and buckled his gun-belt. "Now you're talking. Where are they?"

"I just checked her home," Reckland blurted out, "but the maid said they'd gone to Davenport Woods for a walk. Come on, let's hustle!"

Barely a few minutes later, the two of them, along with three other men, were combing every inch of Davenport Woods. They looked in every nook and cranny, but there was no trace of them.

"Check Davenport Peak," Reckland said, his voice betraying his agitation. "They must be somewhere!"

But though the soldiers – including Reckland himself – searched the heights of the hill, they were nowhere to be found.

xxx

"Where are we?" Carranya said, opening her eyes and shaking her head. After a long trek through the tunnel, they found themselves falling freely, though everything around them was dark until they gently struck solid ground. They did not know how much time they had spent within the Portal, though it had seemed an eternity to them.

Ryan scanned their surroundings quickly. "I'd say we're just outside the Royal Gardens at Lorean," he said. "How on Terra did we get there?"

"Portals are repulsive things, my son," Maximillian replied.

Suddenly, they were aware of ten men approaching them rapidly, wearing grey uniforms.

"Who are these men?" Maximillian said with alarm.

"Let me handle this," Ryan said firmly. "At ease, men. Commander Ryan Eramond of the Rough Riders. We need your help transporting the Queen back to Lorean."

"Commander Eramond?" The leader of the small troop smiled at him. "We will certainly help in transporting you – directly to hell, and to the Consort." He drew his pistol.

Quickly, Ryan struck the man with the hilt of his sword, stunning him. "Run!" he said, as he saw even more men approaching. "We can't fight that many of them!"

"But where?" Carranya replied breathlessly.

"No time to think, Carrie," Ryan said. Taking hold of Carranya, he led her as fast as his feet could carry him past the arches of the Royal Gardens, and into the hedges themselves, when she stumbled.

"Ryan!" she cried. "I – I think I've…."

"Never mind," Ryan said, lifting her up into his arms and looking straight ahead.

"They're gaining on us!" Maximillian said with alarm.

"Don't worry, I have an idea," Ryan said. "By Lord Geraud, I never thought playing fetch in that maze would turn out to be so useful."

Still carrying the Queen, Ryan – followed by Maximillian – rushed headlong into the labyrinth at the centre of the gardens. Making for the secluded area in the centre, he crouched down and waited.

"They'll be forced to break up and hunt for us," Ryan said calmly. "We'll take down as many of them as we have to, then head for the Palace, if we can make it that far."

"Wait, Ryan," Carranya replied. "There may be another way. My mother's companion, Lady Rochelle, has a small house very near the Gardens. She'll be at the palace, but her servants will surely let us stay there, and we can send word to Mother or to the Prime Minister there."

"Brilliant," Ryan replied. Three men approached, and he raised his sword, knocking them to the ground with a beam of green light.

"Let me help you, Ryan!" Carranya said with determination. "For the three of us." She raised her hands, and two more men were stunned by a ball of light. Lifting her up again, Ryan made a bee-line for the exit, and then – in a final desperate burst of speed – made his way to the house Carranya indicated.

With trembling hands, she knocked on the door. An elderly woman with a mild face opened the door, then stepped back.

"Your Majesty!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"We're being pursued, Jane," Carranya said simply. "This is Commander Eramond of the Rough Riders, who rescued me. Can we stay here?"

"Why, of course!" she replied. "Her ladyship's in at the moment, with some new friends of hers! She'll be so pleased to see you! Just wait here while I fetch her."

As they waited in the vestibule, there was a knock on the door. Carranya turned pale, and clung to Ryan's arm, while he smiled at her, trying to seem calm at least outwardly.

"Her ladyship?" they heard Jane say. "She's with some guests in the tea-room? Their name? Regale? Why, yes, I do believe that was their name. You say they're in trouble? Oh dear. Oh dear. Let me check with the mistress, Officer."

_Regale?_ Ryan thought, puzzled.

There was a sound of footsteps, and then the housekeeper returned, smiling.

"Please come in, Your Majesty," she said. "You and your friends are always welcome here." She moved swiftly past them to the door. "Do come in, Officer. I'm sure it's a false alarm."

Bemused, Ryan, Carranya and Maximillian entered the drawing room. Lady Rochelle Anton was seated at table, sipping a cup of tea, and next to her were Emily and Lavie.

"Carranya!" Lady Anton said with alarm. "My poor child, what happened to you?"

Carranya smiled. "It's a long story, Rochelle," she said.

"You must tell me all about it," she clucked. "Oh, thank the Infinity that you're saved."

"Ryan?" Lavie said incredulously.

"The feeling is mutual, Lavie," Ryan said, shaking his head. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story too," Lavie replied awkwardly. "Daddy's fallen ill, and Lady Rochelle's trying to help him get released from prison."

"Is he in prison again?" Ryan said incredulously – then stopped, noting Lavie's angry expression. "Sorry, Lavie, I've been away for a while."

Ignoring him, Lavie curtseyed before the Queen. "It's an honour to meet you, Your Majesty," she said. "Are you all right?"

"Miss Lavender!"

Commodore Reckland, accompanied by two of his men, had entered the room.

"Good heavens!" Lady Rochelle exclaimed. "Just what _is_ going on here?"

"Miss Lavender, are you all right?" Reckland stammered. "We received a warning from the Palace that you might be in danger."

Lavie flushed. "In danger, Commodore Reckland?" she said softly.

"Let me tell you a little story," Reckland said, looking at her with a gentle expression. "Miss Lavender, before he fell ill, your father was able to pass some important information on to us, through a friend of his."

"You've met Daddy?" Lavie said anxiously. "Is he all right?"

"The doctors are doing their best," Reckland replied. "However, there is something far more serious. According to your father, before his imprisonment, he had left important information, in the form of a document, with you – information about a woman who was involved in treason, or even in the Queen's disappearance."

"I know what you mean," Carranya said with a shudder. "He – the man who had me abducted – mentioned her."

"A code name of some sort, Your Majesty," Reckland said, kneeling before her in embarrassment, and realizing that his concern for Lavie had led him to ignore her presence entirely. "Miss Lavender, do you know anything about this?"

Lavie looked at Reckland sadly and shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about that, Commodore."

"Lavie," Ryan said gently, "if you know something, please tell us. This is very important. It could mean everything to our country. Our Queen was nearly killed thanks to this person." _And our child,_ he barely kept himself from adding.

The red made its way into Lavie's cheeks again, but she drew her lips together tightly. "Sorry, Ryan," she said. "I've told you, I don't know anything."

"Miss Regale," Queen Carranya said, "could you make an effort?"

Suddenly, Lavie sprang up from her chair, and pointed an accusing finger at Ryan. "You've got some nerve coming in here, buster," she screamed. "Where were you when Daddy was ill? Do you know how terrible it's been for us, these past two years? Do you even care? You just strut in here in your fancy uniform, thinking that you're some kind of hero? You have no heart, Ryan. You're a stuffed shirt! No, worse, you're just a big, ugly old scarecrow, and I _hate_ you! As for you, Commodore, you ought to be ashamed to be in the same army as a jerk like him!"

"Lavie!" Emily exclaimed, shocked by her vehemence.

"Please, Commodore Reckland, just take us home," she pleaded, her outburst at an end. "I don't feel well at all."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay a little longer, Miss Regale?" Lady Anton said, looking dismayed at the scene playing out in her comfortable drawing-room. "You're overwrought."

"Thank you, Lady Anton," Lavie said stiffly, "but I want to go home."

"Really, Lavie!" Emily protested. "Compose yourself."

It was now Ryan's turn to do something surprising. Shaking his head as if amused, he smiled. "Take her home, Commodore," he said. "As a matter of fact, take us _all_ home. The Queen can stay at the Mayor's house in Davenport, where she'll be safe until we can inform her mother and the Prime Minister. I assume you have conveyance of some sort. Do not ask me questions, for I know what I am doing."

Mystified, Reckland nodded, while Lavie looked at the ground, embarrassed.

"Ryan, is that wise?" Carranya said softly.

"Trust me, C – Your Majesty," he said firmly. "I know what I'm doing."

"Very well, then," Reckland replied. "We had brought two carriages with us anyway. Some of my men can remain here to guard your house, Lady Anton – now that you've heard what I've said, you may not be safe either. The Queen can travel in one carriage, and the Regales with me in another."

"You're too kind," Rochelle said with a smile.

"Perfect," Ryan said. "Come, Maximillian, let's go."

"Who's he?" Reckland asked suspiciously.

"Oh, a Zionese who helped us," Ryan replied. "Call him a refugee."

In a few moments, they were all on their way back to Davenport. Carranya looked at Ryan, as confused as the Commodore had been.

"Why was your friend so angry with you, Ryan?" she said gently.

"Lavie," Ryan replied, still grinning, "is a very intelligent girl. In fact, I do believe I've underestimated her."

"What do you mean, Ryan?" Carranya whispered.

"Wait and see, Carrie," Ryan said grimly. "This isn't over yet."

xxx

Ryan stood outside Anne Lancaster's cottage, shaking his head. The sun was setting over the patches of vegetables that Anne had once planted herself, but the sight brought him no joy.

_Now I know,_ he said. _But how do I proceed? You knew too, didn't you, Mrs. Lancaster? You tried to warn me about the part I would play, but I didn't understand._

"Commander Eramond!" Reckland said suddenly. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"So you've figured it out, too," Ryan said wearily. "Here, have a look."

He drew three sheets of paper from within his armour – the three sheets he had found hidden within the torso of Frumple the Scarecrow, the comic mannequin in Anne's garden that he and Lavie had often played with in a younger, more innocent time. The memory caused him a pang, but he drove it away.

_That world is over,_ he thought. _My future, my destiny, is with Carrie – and with the life that now belongs to both of us._

Reckland perused the sheets quickly, then whistled as he handed them back. "If you don't mind my saying so, Commander, that young woman's presence of mind is remarkable."

"Oh, Lavie has many good qualities, if you ignore her cooking and her temper," Ryan replied.

"I'll have to agree with you on that," Reckland replied, sounding embarrassed. "She's one of a kind."

Ryan stared at Reckland for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Did I just hear that correctly, Commodore?" he said softly.

"I have nothing to hide, Commander," Reckland said, shaking his head sadly. "I suppose there's no fool like a middle-aged fool who dreams he could be young again."

Ryan placed his hand over Reckland's, and the expression in his eyes was surprisingly gentle. Reckland found it hard to imagine that this was the same man who, just ten days earlier, had butchered the men of Zion in their own dockyard.

"Look here, Reckland," he said. "Believe me when I say this: I know how you feel right now. No, don't call me impertinent, or a young whippersnapper, though I can see you're dying to do so. If you think I'm a rival, please disillusion yourself. Lavie and I are childhood friends. That's all there is to it. It's not in my power to promise her anything else. If you believe that you can make her happy, I urge you to do so, for the sake of our old friendship. I'm not the boy Lavie remembers – that boy is dead. Stand by her, Reckland. You never know what rewards loyalty might fetch you."

"What are you, an agony aunt?" Reckland replied, half amused, half annoyed by the other's sermon.

"Very amusing, Commodore," Ryan said. "Come, let's leave this place. We have to strike soon, before a certain person realizes what we already have."

"A capital idea," Reckland replied. "Eramond – do you really think…" He left the question hanging in the air, afraid to complete it.

The words he had spoken to Carranya when all seemed lost came to Ryan's mind, and he smiled. "Yes, I do," he replied. "You have to try. I believe you can. Have a little faith, Commodore."

xxx

The news of the Queen's rescue – which was followed by mysterious rumours, which the Zion failed to deny, that the Emperor had sickened again and the Anti-Pontiff had gone missing – was a nine days' wonder in Galvenia, as the autumn slowly faded into winter. Though the details of her capture and return were eagerly discussed about in army mess halls, student cafeterias and local pubs, Lorean Castle maintained a tight-lipped silence, even as she was triumphantly brought from Davenport to her royal home. The Queen Mother, whose health had taken a turn for the worse ever since her daughter's loss, was reported to be better.

Only a handful of men knew the truth behind Carranya's disappearance and reappearance. That evening, as the sun set over the Palace gardens, they were gathered in the Queen's own apartments, along with Katarina and Lady Rochelle. The cold had begun to set in, and a few drops of rain fell lightly against the windows of her tower.

"We are only grateful," Prime Minister Sheffield said, as he entered the room and saluted the Queen's own guards, "that it has all ended this way. From what you told us, Eramond, it was touch and go."

"Indeed, Sir," Ryan replied. He was sitting opposite Carranya, who was at her mother's bedside, but he now turned to face them all – Sir Cornelius, Lady Anton, Sarah Socius, the Prime Minister, General Freeman, Maximillian, Sir Dermot Chuselwock, and the Duchess of Marksmith – the last two in mourning for their respective sons. "But we have a strange story to tell, and I think Sir Cornelius is eager to tell it to you."

"Thank you, Commander Eramond," Sir Cornelius replied. "Ladies and gentlemen, and Your Majesty, this story began for me over two years ago, when my unfortunate and much lamented friend, Martell Socius – I thank his wife for being with us today, at my express request – met me and discussed his suspicions that we had a traitor in our ranks, in the Palace itself. At that time, only four of us were privy to this discussion: Socius, Trask, Sir Prescott, and I." He bowed slightly towards Sir Dermot. "It is perhaps tragic that the three brave souls I have just mentioned are either dead or crippled, and that only I should remain. However, I owe it to their memory to tell the truth."

"Hmm," Sir Dermot said. "Are you saying it was by design that my son, and the other men, died?"

"Sir Prescott's death may have been fortuitous, Your Lordship, but it was certainly willed. Our suspicions put us on the trail of our own colleague, Thomssen, but lacking evidence, we could not proceed against him. Conclusive evidence of his treason was found only when one of my men found a series of cryptic codes in Talmadge's mansion, and my brother-in-law was able to decipher them. Yet the messages brought further confusion, as it was clear that Thomssen himself was a willing accomplice of two others. They were not named, but one was Galvenian, the other Zionese. We now know that the Zion culprit was none other than Emperor Charlemage, who dreamed of ruling not only Arlia, but the whole of Terra. Our friend Maximillian's testimony corroborates this, and we have the eyewitness accounts of the Queen and Eramond as well."

"May God find the mercy to forgive me," Maximillian replied. He wore the coarse brown robe of an Itarian monk, his head was bowed, and his scalp was tonsured. "A lifetime of penance cannot atone for the things I have done at Charlemagne's request."

"Take comfort in the fact that you have helped us," Sir Cornelius replied. "It is thanks to you that our Queen, and her heir, are safe with us." He smiled at Carranya, who smiled back at them both. "However, there remained the question of the Galvenian. We racked our brains, and tried to analyze the code again, but we had only conjectures until Sir Prescott died and confided a particular detail to Eramond. Perhaps you could tell us what that is, Ryan."

"With pleasure, Sir," Ryan said calmly. "Before he died, Sir Prescott told me that I had to be on my guard against a certain person, and protect the Princess from her. That meant it had to be someone in the Princess' entourage – and, in the light of a couple of strange experiences I'd had myself, that made a lot of sense. But he did more than that. He told me that the Duke of Marksmith's mother was the one."

The Duchess turned pale, and shot an angry look at Ryan. "That is a vile lie," she said. "Sir Prescott was merely indulging an old grudge, because I kept him from making – an imprudent alliance in his youth. It was wicked of him to accuse me in that way."

"That's what Carranya told me, as well," Ryan said, "and I thought Sir Prescott was simply being spiteful, until I realized that _a legal parent and a biological parent are two entirely different things_."

There was a clatter, as one of the empty cups by the Queen's bedside fell to the ground. Lady Rochelle, moving forward quickly, picked it up.

"What are you speaking of, Commander?" Sarah Socius said sharply.

"What if," Ryan said, looking at every man and woman in the room with a questioning glance, "the Duchess was _not_ the Duke's real mother? Such things are not unheard of. For example, King Arlbert the First was the illegitimate son of Lady Penelope Gerius and Prince Derren, but King Richard Lionheart adopted him as his heir to preserve the dynasty. What a King does, his nobles imitate. Your Ladyship, was Joseph, Duke of Marksmith, your real son?"

The Duchess began to weep. "Harold and I – dearly wished for children, but we never could have any," she said softly. "When we resigned ourselves to this, we decided to adopt a young boy, through the good graces of friends of ours. They told us he was the son of an impoverished knight, and came of good stock. Joseph…my son…"

Sarah Socius offered the Duchess a handkerchief, and Lady Anton made sympathetic noises as Ryan went on.

"Now, the Duchess may have believed that story – she is certainly not culpable, and the Queen agrees with me on that – but those friends of hers may have lied to her. I submit to you, Your Ladyship, that one of those friends was Eugene Thomssen. Sir Cornelius has the documents to prove it."

"Yes," the Duchess said indignantly. "What of it? It is vulgar on your part to pry into our personal lives."

"I apologize, Your Ladyship," Ryan replied, "but it was necessary for us to know. Very well, then. We were looking for someone close to Queen Carranya – otherwise, why should Prescott warn me on her? Someone close to Eugene Thomssen – perhaps the child's own mother, or merely another interested party. Someone" – he stood up, and began to walk around the room calmly – "who could possibly engineer the deaths of Socius and Prescott – both of whom died, not of their wounds, but in hospital after an apparent recovery. I have post-mortem reports from Doctor Sherman at the Royal Hospital, and it confirmed what Sir Cornelius and I both suspected. Both Socius and Prescott had been poisoned. The same person arranged for me to meet Carranya twice, under mysterious circumstances – perhaps hoping to compromise her."

Sarah Socius rose from her chair. "Commander Eramond, as Martell's wife, I demand that you tell me who is responsible," she said angrily.

"I believe you will see it yourself, once I explain a little more, Mrs. Socius," Ryan replied. "To sum up: we are looking for someone close to the Queen. Someone religious. Someone who happened to have visited both your husband and Sir Prescott in hospital."

"Are you accusing me again, Commander?" the Duchess of Marksmith said reproachfully. "I visited both those men."

"No, I am not, Your Ladyship," Ryan replied. "It is possible that the actual guilty party reasoned along the same lines as I did, and planned to use you as a scapegoat. You are not the only noblewoman who visits hospitals – and prisons – as a good work."

The Duchess' eyes widened in shock, and she turned to look at the Queen, and the women seated beside her.

"You see it, don't you, Your Ladyship?" Sir Cornelius said quietly. "Only one person fits that description – and thanks to the quick wit of Sigmund Regale's daughter, we now have documentary proof of this."

"Mother?" Carranya stood up, shaking her head in dismay. "Mother would never do anything like that."

"Oh, no, Your Majesty," Sir Cornelius said. "Not your mother."

"Then who?" Carranya said, in an unsteady voice.

Ryan walked up to her. "It's a hard fact, Carrie, but you've got to face it," he said. "The snake in the grass was none other than your faithful friend and companion, the one who quietly delivered you into danger and then befriended you, knowing that you would never suspect her. Lady Rochelle Anton."

"Rochelle?" Carranya cried out. "No – I can't believe it!"

Lady Rochelle stood up. Despite her slight form, her face wore an expression of the utmost dignity. "Do you have any proof of these ridiculous accusations, Mr. Eramond?" she said cuttingly.

Ryan reached into his pocket. "I have here," he said, "from the hand of Erasmus of Alton, a record of the birth of a child to you and an unknown father – though a small marginal note says it was Harold, Duke of Marksmith. This child's birthday coincides with Duke Joseph's. As for why you did it, it is simple. If Carranya were to perish, or be of unsound mind, the Duke would rule in her stead: as her husband, and as a Marksmith, a collateral descendant of the Lionhearts. You wanted your son to rule – and for that, you were ready to break Carranya's spirit, sell out your nation, traffic with demons, and betray us to the Zion and the War Hawks. It is a pity that Charlemagne, realizing that his plans had come to naught, chose to vent his spleen on your son. May he rest in peace."

"_You_ were Joseph's mother?" the Duchess said angrily.

"You killed my husband?" Sarah Socius said, outraged and weeping.

"My son," Sir Dermot said implacably. "My son's blood shall be avenged."

Lady Rochelle smiled – a small, twisted smile. "So what will you do about it? Kill me? Your soldier and your spymaster speak the truth, curse them. But my death will solve nothing."

"I know that," Ryan replied, a smile on his own lips. "We learned that lesson when we faced your friend Charlemagne, and we will apply it on his charming Consort. If we killed you, we would merely strengthen the curse that bound you to each other, and he would probably recover from his illness – for a while. But as Lord Geraud said, we must break the circle."

"I understand," Carranya said sadly. "Rochelle, the only power you have over us is the power of hatred. If we do not kill you, but merely detain you and allow you to live out your life, that power will fade away. You and Charlemagne will both grow old and die, as all men must, and the remorse you will come to feel will be worse than any punishment we could ever inflict."

"You will not do that, Carranya," Lady Rochelle said contemptuously. "One day, you will remember all that you have suffered, and you and Ryan will kill me. On that day, the power of my Master and his handmaid will be unleashed."

"Rochelle," the Queen Mother said softly, in the silence that followed, "how could you?"

Carranya raised her hand. "If you wish, Rochelle, I can heal you as I healed Charlemagne. I know you are not ill, but perhaps the gift of light can enlighten the soul as well as the body."

Rochelle glared at Carranya, her face contorted with hatred. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said hoarsely, "but that will not be necessary. I can take care of myself. Enjoy the fool's paradise that you have created. I shall be vindicated."

Before any of them could react, she had flung open the door and fled.

"Stop her!" Prime Minister Sheffield said frantically. "Fairfax, you dunderhead, why did you not place guards there?"

"You don't understand, Alan," Sir Cornelius replied. "She cannot escape."

xxx

_You failed me._

"Yes, Master," Rochelle said submissively. "It was not my fault – the Emperor was impatient and selfish."

_You failed me. I do not wish to hear any excuses._

"I humbly beg for your forgiveness, Master," Rochelle said. "I know that you will grant me vengeance over my enemies, even now."

A laugh, harsh and cruel, echoed through Lady Anton's boudoir.

_Forgiveness? I cannot give what is not mine to give, woman. Unforgiven myself, how can I forgive?_

"But, Master," Rochelle pleaded, "when I joined Carranya and the Eramond boy, you were pleased! You commended me! You said I had done something wonderful for you! Why do you now reject me?"

_Ah, woman, have you not realized by now that I lied? That I always will lie? You are my worthy disciple. Come and join me._

The walls of the room suddenly began to glow red.

"Master!" Rochelle wailed. "Please, save me! Do not let me be the laughing-stock of Carranya and the Eramond swine! I could never bear it!"

_Did you not say you would bear anything for me, woman? Obey me one last time. Take your little bottle and drink of it._

Rochelle stepped back from the mirror. "Do you desire _me_ as a sacrifice, Master?"

_Let us just say that I yearn for company. You Galvenians have a proverb, do you not? Misery loves company. Come, drink to your Master._

Without hesitation, Rochelle removed the stopper from the bottle on her dressing-table – just below the mirror through which she could reach the Master – and drained it. A wave of peace came over her.

"I am coming, Master," she said, swaying and falling backwards onto her bed. The same laugh that she had heard earlier echoed in her head, and it seemed to her as if she was sinking, travelling through the bed, through solid ground, down through to the very centre of Terra.

_I always lie, woman._

She saw herself surrounded by the redness on all sides. She could not escape it – it burned at her body and soul, licking at her clothing without burning it. She felt the pain gnaw away at her insides, like a hunger that would never be satisfied.

"Master!" she cried out, despairingly.

Memories of every moment in her life flooded her mind, filling her eyes with tears. The faces of Katarina, of Carranya, of Martell Socius, of Sir Prescott, of Sigmund Regale – and worse, of her son – flashed before her accusingly. She could not move. She could not speak. She was alone.

Forever.

xxx


	23. Chapter 22: The Galvenian Dream

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**  
_**The Galvenian Dream**_

**TERRAN WAR (C.Y. 300 – 303)…**_In its last year, the Terran war was confined to a series of minor skirmishes, except for the Zion naval attack on Galvenia (cf. BATTLE OF DAVENPORT) and its aftermath. An abortive conflict between the Varald and the Fulton Republic was rapidly quelled by the Commonwealth forces, strengthened by fresh Galvenian troops, until peace was officially declared at the Treaty of Caledonia, signed by Queen Carranya and the Zion Regent, Siegbert von Hohenzollern (q.v.), weeks after the death of Charlemagne. Siegbert would then help the Viceroys pass the Act of Succession that placed Charlemagne's daughter, Hildegarde (q.v.) – who had apparently been kept under house arrest during the last two years of the war – on the throne, reigning with her as co-regent before marrying her in C.Y. 312. _

_With this treaty, which placed the new Galvenian border at Victoria in the west and Ismar-Darington in the east, the balance of power in Terra shifted firmly and decisively towards the "Land of Good King Lionheart", a status that obtains to this day. An official ratification of the treaty by the Commonwealth – the last act of President Hipper, before he resigned and returned to his beloved Varaldia, to mourn his daughter and grandchildren – took place at the end of the year. Hipper himself was succeeded by Fairfax (q.v.) of Galvenia, cementing the new balance of power…_

_ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24__th__ Edition, C.Y. 347_

"I was so afraid," Lavie admitted. "I knew there was something wrong with her, somehow, especially after she said she'd visited Daddy just before he took ill. I didn't know what to do. Thank God that both you and Ryan arrived at the same time."

Four months had passed since the death of Lady Rochelle in her own apartments – a death that neither Carranya nor her mother, despite their gentle dispositions, could truly mourn. The Zion army, dispirited and demoralized, managed to defend Caledonia against further incursions, but was unable to recover even an inch more of their own territory.

In the meantime, following quiet negotiations between Kievan of the Varald and Prime Minister Sheffield, a team of Galvenian scientists had been dispatched to the Directorate, with a safe-conduct from the former, in an attempt to halt the ravages of the plague. A planned attack by the Varald on the Fulton border was cancelled in the light of this, and Major-General Gerhard contented himself with renegotiating the arms trade with the Republic, and placing tighter checks on the border.

They were sitting in Davenport Park, a large, cheerful group – Lavie, Emily, David and Leah, their three daughters, and Commodore Reckland, who had been reassigned to Serin's Peak after planned rumours of a Zion naval strike had reached Lorean. The girls were resting after a friendly game of hide-and-seek with Reckland, while Sigmund – who had been quietly released after Lady Anton's demise – was resting at home.

"Don't worry, Miss Lavender," Reckland replied. "It was well done, and all's well that ends well. I can only thank the Five Angels that she didn't try to harm you."

"She would have, John," David said. Though he had lost weight after his illness, there was still a room-filling quality about him. "Haven't you read the papers? She was behind both Sigmund's arrests, and she certainly would have tried to get at Lavie. We owe a lot to you."

Reckland flushed. "Just doing my duty, Mendelson, that's all," he replied.

"I don't know about the rest of you," Leah said, "but I've got to head back home and see to lunch, since it's my turn today. Are you coming, David?"

"What would you do without your official taster, Leah, dear?" David teased. Gathering up his three girls, he led his family back on the road that led to Casa Regale.

"I guess I'd better check on Sigmund too," Emily added, rising from her bench and following them. "I'll see you later, dear."

"All right, Mom," Lavie said brightly, as she watched them leave.

"Aren't you leaving too, Miss Lavender?" John Reckland said.

"Um, no," Lavie said, turning a deep shade of red. "Commodore Reckland….I just wanted to thank you for all you've done for us. For me, for Uncle David and Aunt Leah. Thank you, thank you," she said fervently.

"Well, since we're old friends now, you could call me John," Reckland replied with a laugh. "And you're always welcome, Miss Lavender. It's been an honour to know you all."

"I wonder what will become of Ryan now," Lavie said, sitting down next to him with a pensive expression. "I suppose it's true that he's going to marry the Queen…"

"Her mother isn't too keen on the idea," Reckland replied, "but the Prime Minister and Sir Cornelius are pushing for it, and I don't see why not. Besides, the Queen will soon be brought to child-bed, and she'll need all the support she can get in raising her heir without a father. Still, I'm worried."

"Why?" Lavie raised her head and turned to face him. "Why do you say that – John?" she said, trying out the name and finding that she quite liked it.

"Not so much about his marriage – from all I've heard, he genuinely loves Carranya, and is willing to raise the child as his own," Reckland replied. "But he will also be, _de facto, _a King of Galvenia in all but name. And from what I've seen of him in the field, he will be a good king – but a ruthless, perhaps even brutal one. For Carranya, and for Galvenia as he sees it, he would do anything."

"Wouldn't we all, if it was something or someone that really mattered?" Lavie wondered.

"Perhaps, L – Miss Lavender," Reckland replied. "But not all of us would go to the same length. I know I would risk my own life, if it would be of use to someone I cared for. But Eramond would go further – he would risk others' lives, even those of civilians, to achieve his goal. That is why I worry."

Lavie sighed. "He told me that, actually," she said. "He said he had – changed."

"He said much the same to me, Miss Lavender. He was speaking to me of you, and he said – I won't forget it – 'That boy is dead.' Even if he ever returns here, Davenport will never be a home for him. His place is in Lorean, with the Queen he has pledged to serve – and to cherish."

"Dead?" Lavie shook her head and closed her eyes, distressed. "Do people truly change that much, John? What makes them change? Can they – change back?"

"I don't know, Miss Lavender," he replied. "I've seen a young man who started life bitter, seeking vengeance on the whole world, but he now sees things differently. I've seen others, like your friend Eramond, who've gone the other way. People do change, for a variety of reasons – love and war perhaps being the foremost." He smiled.

"Love – and war," Lavie said. "I like the sound of that. And hopefully, we'll soon see and end to war, at least for now. Will you be glad, Commodore – I mean, John – that it's over?"

"Certainly," Reckland said firmly. "And if the Queen and her consort permit me, I'll probably take an honourable discharge. I've always had a hankering to farm a little, you know, and it's a less dangerous life than the Navy, even if it'd be fun to become an admiral."

"Admiral Reckland sounds cool, though," Lavie said warmly. "But farming's fun too. Gran used to grow her own crops. I can just see you with a little farm of your own, and a house full of children. Aunt Leah's kids love you already!"

"Children? Hmm, that'll take time," Reckland replied. "I'm not even married."

"Really?" Lavie said, with a chuckle. "I thought all sailors had a girl back home. At least that's how the old song goes!"

"Songs aren't always true, you know," Reckland replied. "Well, perhaps we'd best get going. It's a chilly day today."

"Good thing I brought my coat along," Lavie said, buttoning it up. "John – if you ever do settle down and run a farm, will it be close to Davenport?"

"I hope so," he replied. "Then we could stay in touch from time to time."

"That's funny," Lavie said, blushing again. "That's what I hoped for, too. You know…."

"Yes?" Despite being a seasoned veteran, Reckland was aware – to his embarrassment – that his heart was beating furiously.

"I'm not sure how to say this," Lavie said. "When the war began, I had this crazy hope – that's all it was, honestly – that somehow, I'd help Ryan get through it. That he'd – gosh, this sounds lame – appreciate what I did for him. Things didn't work out that way. At first, I was terribly unhappy – I'm not denying that. But now, I realize that I can be happy – without him."

"And you will be, L – Miss Lavender," Reckland replied. "I don't presume to know what your future holds, but I hope that you will be happy indeed. As for entertaining a foolish hope – or a crazy one, as you put it – I doubt too many of us are immune to such things." He shook his head. "I know I am not."

"You know," Lavie said thoughtfully, "if the totally unnecessary title sticks in your throat, you could just call me Lavender – or even Lavie. I'm not the Queen, after all! So what's _your_ wild hope, John Reckland?"

Reckland grew silent, then closed his eyes. "I could tell you, if you promised not to laugh, Lavender," he said.

"Oh, try me," Lavie replied with a chuckle. "Look, I'm laughing already!"

Reckland took a deep breath. "When I was out at sea, I had a dream – a waking dream, you could call it. I pictured myself returning home from a long journey, returning to the farm that was waiting for me. I would walk up to the door, and the door would open – and you would be there, waiting for me as well."

"Me?" Lavie blushed, and moved closer to him on the bench. "Be careful what you wish for, Commodore…."

"I told you it was foolish," Reckland said ruefully. "But I can't help it."

"John," Lavie said gently, "you're certainly not being foolish. In fact, before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say this: be careful what you wish for, for you might actually end up getting it!"

"Lavender!"

"See, it's not that hard to say," Lavie said cheerfully.

"Lavender, do you truly mean what you're saying?"

Lavie looked offended. "John – I'm not the kind of girl who says a thing like that just to tease you, okay? Perhaps I did love Ryan, once upon a time. Perhaps I still do, though not as I did before. But I'm getting older, and so is he. I guess I've changed as well. And I've been thinking about something that my grandmother told me, just before she died – as well as something that a wise old man told me."

"I'm sorry," Reckland said contritely. "What did they say?"

"Oh, that's one of those secrets that we women alone know," Lavie replied, winking at him. "So are you going to spit it out, Commodore, or are we just going to trade tales of our dreams?"

"Lavender," Reckland said softly, "I've cared for you ever since that day you walked into my office at Serin's Peak. But I'm just an ordinary sailor from an ordinary family – and I'm hardly a hero. You're an heiress. What right had I to hope for anything, except your friendship?"

"Oh, nonsense, John," Lavie replied tenderly. "Why do you guys have to make it so complicated? If we're going to play that game, you might as well remind me that my father was a jail-bird or an alcoholic. This is about _us_, John, and our future. Besides, I'm sure neither Mom nor Daddy would object. They like you."

Reckland placed his arm around her, and she did not make any effort to evade it – rather, she drew closer to him. "Lavender, we seafaring men aren't too good at words. And I know I may have to fight one last battle before the Zion finally throw in their towel. But will you promise that, if I return, you'll wait for me?"

"Of course I will, you silly dear," Lavie replied affectionately, as they embraced.

xxx

"Impossible," Sir Cornelius said. "It's too neat. There must be a traitor in our ranks. Were we wrong about Lady Anton all along?"

"It _could_ be just a coincidence," Sheffield replied. "Still – The Zion launch a naval attack, just as the Queen is about to be brought to bed. Who could it be?"

"I think I can answer that question, dudes," Armin Tamas replied, entering the room with two more Intelligence men – and Ryan – followed by one of the Queen's maids, in chains. "We found this nice young girl passing radio messages to the Zion. Apparently she wasn't too happy that we blew old Rochelle's cover."

"We have found two more of them among the Ladies of the Bedchamber," Ryan added somberly. "Armin's men have taken them into custody."

"How is the Queen, Eramond?" Sir Cornelius said anxiously.

"Doctor Sherman says it'll be complicated, but she'll pull through," Ryan said, shaking his head. "She's taking it quite hard – blaming herself for being in no shape to lead the people, and feeling that it's all her fault. An eternity of suffering would not be enough to punish those who planted such ideas in her head."

Fairfax, who had heard the story of Thomssen from Ryan's own lips, nodded. "What shall we do, then?"

"Freeman has spoken to Admiral Cavendish, and we've deployed ships to intercept them at several places. However, it's likely that they will head straight to Davenport, so that's where I'm taking my men. Hopefully, by the time I return, Carranya and my – I mean, her heir will be safe."

Sheffield raised his eyebrows. "You seem to have adopted that child in your mind, Commander," he said.

"How could I do otherwise?" Ryan replied with a smile. "That child is Carranya's own child. But let us not waste time. Armin will handle things here, and in the meantime, we're going to blow those Zion scum out of the water."

"Be careful, Eramond," Sheffield said. "It would destroy the Queen if you, too, were to fall in battle."

"I have no intention of doing so, Sir," Ryan said firmly, as he saluted and left the room.

"Wow," Armin muttered. "That's not the Ryan I once knew. You sure this isn't Sir Prescott in disguise, or something, Fairfax?"

"I'm afraid not, Armin," Sir Cornelius replied. "A man like Eramond is born to be a great leader – or a great scoundrel – or perhaps both. Time will tell."

xxx

The naval battle that followed was vicious, with no quarter given and none asked. With the advantage of superior numbers and surprise, the remnant of the Zion fleet broke through the waters of the Sea of Arlia, heading straight for Davenport, where Reckland – commanding the _HMS Bellerophon_ – led the Galvenian counter-attack.

Men and ships fell like leaves from a tree in autumn, but the Galvenians managed to destroy the bulk of the enemy, in a fight that saw Reckland himself wounded and the _Bellerophon_'s sister ship, the _Walter Whitworth_, seriously damaged. What was left of the Zion's planned "invasion battalion" – about two hundred men – landed on the shores of Davenport, where they were met by Ryan's men.

"Kill them all," he ordered. "There will be no prisoners, no survivors. Do this for Galvenia, and for your Queen."

What followed was not a battle, but a bloodbath. Using every weapon they had at their disposal, the enraged Rough Riders, led by Ryan and his sword, fell upon the ill-prepared Zion, and the sands of Davenport Beach ran red. When it was finally over, Ryan sheathed his sword.

"Mission accomplished," he said. "Now, we have one last task to finish."

Without a second thought for the corpses on the beach, he hurried to Serin's Peak, where some of the sailors were trying desperately to make it to the shore on pieces of wreckage. The few civilians there were swiftly evacuated.

"What will happen?" one of them asked.

"We're going to finish them off," Sergeant Wilson said. "Commander's orders."

"But that's not right," another voice said softly. Ryan, taken aback, turned to see a short, fair-haired woman, her husband's pension cheque in her hands. "They were simply sailors doing their duty. Arrest them, if you will, but do not kill them."

"Would you plead for the Zion?" Ryan said harshly. "These are the people who wanted to invade our land, kill our children with disease, and murder our Queen."

Olivia Benise shook her head. "Perhaps their leaders wanted to do that," she said, "but these men are simply following orders, like my daughter's fiancé. He, too, has had to do things that he found repulsive, but he has remained obedient. Why punish them for the faults of a mad Emperor?"

"I can't listen to this kind of treasonous talk," Ryan said contemptuously. "Take her into custody, Wilson."

"Ryan Eramond!" Olivia said, aghast. "Are you insane?"

"Who is insane?" Ryan replied angrily, thinking of Carranya and the pains she was undergoing at that very moment. "The one who seeks to purge our land of enemies and traitors, or the one who defends them?"

Olivia shook her head as the soldiers led her away, but said nothing more as the Rough Riders moved closer to the waterline.

"They're within our line of fire," Ryan said calmly. "Take them down. _All_ of them." He drew his rifle and fired the first shot, striking a sailor on the head and sending him into the sea, and his men followed suit. Swirls of red covered the face of the water, then disappeared as the waves broke over them.

"Well done, men," Ryan said. "I'm proud of you all. Now, it's time to go home."

_No, Ryan,_ the old man said. _You can never go home now._

_xxx_

The door was flung open, and Ryan rushed into the room.

"Carrie!" he exclaimed. "I – How is she, Doctor?"

Doctor Sherman smiled. "It was a hard battle, Commander," he replied, looking sympathetically at the Rough Rider's concern and anxiety, "but the Queen is every inch a fighter. When she heard that you had gone to defend Davenport, it was as if she regained the will to live. She's right inside there, with the future King of Galvenia, and she'd love to see you."

"I take it you don't object," Ryan said gratefully.

"Of course not, Commander," Sherman said, chuckling to himself. "We doctors know a thing or two, you see. And though this will go down in my books as an eight months' child, that is simply a convenient lie on my part. Not that I object. I would sooner be ruled over by a soldier's son than the son of a spoiled child like Marksmith. You see, I am one of the people, too."

Ryan shook the Doctor's hand. "I see you are not only skilled, but trustworthy," he said. "On my behalf, and on Carranya's, I thank you with all my heart."

"She'll take some time to recover, Commander," Sherman said. "But I think seeing you safe will be the first step. May King Richard Lionheart bless you and your son."

Ryan advanced into the inner chamber slowly, with the reverence of an Itarian monk entering an old cathedral. Pushing aside the curtains, he saw her, the child sleeping peacefully at her breast. She was pale, but the smile on her face suggested that her torments were – at least for the moment – at an end.

"Ryan?" she said, her eyes opening wide. "Ryan?"

Ryan sat down beside her, and with an imperious gesture, dismissed the nurse who hovered around the Queen.

"Yes, Carrie," he said gently. "Don't be afraid any longer. It's all over."

"Ryan," Carranya said, in an awed voice, "he's – he's beautiful, Ryan. He looks just like you – except that he might have red hair." She smiled. "At the moment when he was born, I knew, Ryan. I knew everything would be all right. I knew you would come back to me."

"Thank you, Carrie," Ryan replied, taking hold of her hand, and placing his other hand over her son – _their_ son – in a gesture of protection. "I told you he'd be a chip off the old block, didn't it?"

"And is it truly over?" Carranya asked, looking at them affectionately. "Have my two men successfully defeated the Zion?"

Ryan's expression hardened for a moment, as he thought of Olivia Benise's words, then softened at once. Picking up the child, he held him – at first tentatively, and then firmly. The baby opened his eyes for a moment, then leaned against the breastplate of his armour and slept contentedly again.

"Yes, we have," Ryan replied. "Half their Navy is gone. They'll be forced to sue for peace sooner or later. But don't worry about that, Carrie. Just think about this little guy here, who'll be a far greater ruler than either of us."

_Wise words, butcher of Davenport and Caledonia,_ the old man said sternly. _Even if he is as great a fool as his grandfather, he will still do better than you._

_Keep quiet, old-timer,_ Ryan replied in his mind. So exhilarated was he that even Lord Geraud's rebuke had no effect on him.

"I can believe that," Carranya said, taking him back from Ryan and stroking his head, then smiling. "What would you like to call him, my future husband?"

Ryan grinned. "Given the circumstances in which he was conceived," he replied, "Derren would be quite appropriate. Either that or Arlbert, but I'd go for Derren."

Carranya laughed, and a tear of joy ran down her cheek. "Ryan," she said, "that sounds – just perfect. King Derren the First of Galvenia. Thank you, Ryan, my love."

"Hey, the Galvenian Army is here to serve you, Your Majesty," Ryan replied with a chuckle, as he wiped it away.

xxx

With their Navy routed, the Zion's hopes – which were already low – fell further. Charlemagne's illness worsened, and he died quietly in his sleep, only a month after the defeat at Davenport. The Council of Viceroys – now headed by Hunzicker, even though Issachar no longer belonged to him – engaged in feverish deliberations, seeing no end, until they were helped by an unlikely person.

"Gentlemen," the young man in a noble's rich garments said, as he strode casually into the Council room, "I believe I can help you."

"Count Siegbert von Hohenzollern?" Hunzicker leapt to his feet, his monocle falling from his eye to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here, at the request of my august mother, to teach you pragmatism," Siegbert replied. "At the very outset of this war, she and I both urged Gruner and Hunermann – God rest their souls – to abandon their suicidal plans. Of course, we now know that they were serving Charlemagne, who inherited the madness of his ancestor Johan. Gentlemen, we cannot oppose the Galvenians any more. They are too strong."

"Gruner is not dead," his assistant, Archbishop Paehtz, said ruefully. "He may have disappeared behind enemy lines."

"He is dead to us," the Count replied calmly. "Now, listen to my suggestion. We will negotiate for peace with Carranya, placing our new border at Ismar on the east and Victoria on the west. We cannot recapture either, but we can ask them to return Issachar. I think the Queen will prove to be clement – at least if that dog of war, Eramond, does not interfere." He frowned. "Now, as for the succession, I have an idea. Let us reign as co-regents, but let us also pass an Act of Succession that would allow Charlemagne's unhappy daughter, Hildegarde, to reign once she comes of age. She was confined in the Imperial Palace, along with her mother, for opposing his plans, and she is eager to make amends."

"A young Empress," Hunzicker said thoughtfully. "That would be a good rallying point for our people – much like Carranya. But would you not want to rule instead, Siegbert? You have a claim to the throne."

"I will set aside that claim for the good of Zion, gentlemen, and out of affection for the Empress and her daughter, who have always been my mother's dear friends – and mine, as well. I leave the matter of a regency to you. We need peace, gentlemen, so that one day – when Carranya and her son have been relegated to the annals of history – we can reclaim what is rightfully ours. It will take time, but time – as they say – heals all wounds."

"What of the Church?" Paehtz said sadly. "The defection of Gruner has ruined us. Should we crawl back to the Itarians?"

"No, Archbishop, that would be unwise," Siegbert replied. "We have harmed them too much. Even if Pious will forgive, his successors will not. Instead, we will appoint you as Archbishop of a newly constituted Church of Zion, retaining all the old forms of worship, but with supreme authority invested in the Emperor – or, in this case, the Empress. It would be Emperor Maximillian's dream, though at a high price – and it will also serve to rally the people, just as Galvenia will use the Itarians for their purposes."

"Galvenia?" Paehtz said, outraged. "What do you mean?"

"Negotiations are already going on, gentlemen. Queen Carranya has made overtures to Pious, and many Galvenians have identified their cause with the besieged Itarians during the darker days of the war. I foresee that they, not us, will forge the union of crown and censer, even if their religion is a political and ceremonial tool rather than an authentic piety. Let Pious and his successors compromise themselves by siding with the Galvenians, and with men like Ryan Eramond. In the future, people may see _our_ Church, not theirs, as the innocent victim."

"Young man," Paehtz said warmly, "that is an excellent idea. Do you think we can succeed?"

"Not in your lifetime, or in mine," Siegbert said solemnly, "but this world of ours will not end tomorrow. The North shall rise again, if we are prudent and patient. What do you say, Hunzicker?"

"I approve," Hunzicker said. "Thank you, Siegbert."

xxx

"Juno!" Marianne said happily, running down the path that led from her small cottage to the main road. "What brings you here?"

"My furlough, Miss Marianne," Makarov Juno replied, extending his hand. "With the Peace of Caledonia soon to be ratified, and an official cease-fire being proclaimed by the Queen and the Zion Regent, Siegbert, the Army can afford to dispense with some of us – particularly those who simply served in the rear and did their duty honestly." He laughed. "It is strange. I once yearned for glory, for decorations, for an unattainable love, and I have none of them. Eramond has them all, and yet, I would not trade places with him – not for the whole world. War may be hell on earth, but even hell can teach us lessons."

"So are you going to stay in the Army, Juno?" she asked, as they shook hands.

"That would hardly be wise, with Eramond due to marry the Queen this summer," he replied sarcastically. "Truly, for the son of an unworthy father, he has come a long way by simply following that example."

"There was a time when I would've ticked you off for saying that," Marianne said regretfully, "but not any more. Have you heard about Viola's mother?"

Juno nodded. "She will be released soon, but it was still unforgivable on his part," he replied. "From what Spenson tells me, the girl is facing serious hardships since her father's pension was suspended. She keeps afloat only because he is giving her almost all his pay in secret. Commodore Reckland also helps from time to time, though he has to be discreet."

"So does Father," Marianne said angrily. "If he dares to show his face in Davenport again, I'll…."

"Hush, Miss Marianne," Juno said. "Eramond might order you arrested. He has already begun – several men and women all over Galvenia have been arrested for protesting the carnage at Davenport, or for claiming that the peace treaty was too hard on the Zion. They are in a minority now – we are still drunk on victory – but in years to come, people will heed their words."

"And I'll be one of them, Juno," Marianne said firmly. "Someone has to speak up for those who want a fairer world – or at least a less cruel one. If we forget that, how can we claim to be better than the Zion?"

"Again, you speak wisely," Juno said, looking at her with admiration. "As for my post-war career, I intend to collaborate with you in that process. We may face threats, imprisonment – even torture – but we must do so, if we are not to go the way of the Zion or the Varald."

"I appreciate that, Juno," Marianne said. "We'll have to start quietly, on a small scale, but Father agrees that it has to be done. So does Sigmund Regale, even if isn't saying it too loudly."

"_Vox populi, vox dei,_" Juno quoted. "That is what the Itarians say. And despite what Ryan Eramond might believe, they are right."

"All right, then, we can't spend the whole day discussing politics!" Marianne said lightly. "Come on in, Juno. Your mother's dropped in for tea, and we'd all love to have you along!"

"A delightful proposition, Miss Marianne," Juno said, picking up his bag as he headed inside the house.

xxx

Ryan stood at the edge of the cave, looking down into the precipice. The landfill had gone, and the walls no longer glowed red: it was a cave like any other, except for the steep drop. Tomorrow was his wedding day, but Lord Geraud had been insistent, and he had finally yielded and made his way back to Koroth of old.

_Eramond,_ Lord Geraud said sternly, _I am disappointed in you._

"That is your prerogative, Lord Geraud," Ryan replied quietly, almost regretfully. "I can only say this in response. Men do not make history. History makes them. If you had been faced with the same responsibilites I did – towards Carranya, and towards my country – you may have acted the same way. Human history will always include men of war, as well as men of peace – and though the latter are revered, the former are necessary. To deny this would be to deny human nature."

_Are you saying that my Commonwealth was a pipe dream?_

"A noble dream, perhaps," Ryan replied. "But as long as we men remain what we are, there will be wars and conflicts. It is the nature of the beast. Your Commonwealth did well for three hundred years, but now, a new world is beginning – one in which your Commonwealth will be a moral voice, but not a political power."

_The nature of the beast?_ Geraud's voice was sad. _Do you leave no room for God in your vision, Eramond? For that voice which prompts us, as your grandfather did, to "always do the right thing?" For the hope that He can do what our unaided minds cannot, and lead us to peace?_

"I certainly believe in a God, Lord Geraud," Ryan said softly, "but he is not a benevolent grandfather."

_I never said he was. Even our evil deeds are used by him to good ends. But that does not excuse us._

"I believe that he guides the swords of those in battle, not merely the tongues of the prophets of peace. Some lessons have to be learned at the point of a sword, or the barrel of a gun. God is a harsh teacher, but a good one."

_The God you speak of, Eramond, is not the God I have seen. But perhaps, he is not the one I spoke of when I lived in this world, either. There are things I have seen on this side that it is not possible to describe in earthly terms, but let me try. It is true that he permits wars, plagues, and other infamies – but that is only because he has made us free. Free, because he loves us – as you love Carranya. And if we misuse that freedom, we will be called to account for it._

"I accept the rebuke," Ryan replied, "and I will try to avoid needless bloodshed. But do not blame me if, in future, I need to use an iron hand rather than your gentle touch. These things are a part of life."

_Of this life, true,_ Geraud said with a sigh. _Come, Eramond, look into the precipice._

Ryan looked down, and watched a scene unfold, as if events of the past were being re-enacted before his eyes.

"_Samath," Kaleb said desperately. "Please live. Do not die, after what you have done for me."_

_Samath lay bleeding from the wound in his neck, his eyes closed. "Kaleb – now we know each others' secrets, do we not? I wanted the power of the Devil's handmaid for myself; you wanted it for the Journeymen, to hold as a threat over the people of Terra if they should cross us. We were both wrong."_

"_God help me, that is true, Samath," Kaleb replied. "Forgive me, as I forgive you. It was our greed for power that has undone us both, though we have sealed the demon with our combined abilities."_

"_You will live longer than me, Kaleb," Samath said, "and you have my forgiveness. Only, do not follow Nealus' plan of keeping the sword in the Order, lest the demon be unlocked again. Instead, preserve your sword until a wise and peaceful ruler comes – one for whom the sword will not be a tool to shed blood, but a symbol and an inspiration. Your son already loves my daughter, and there is no need for them to know that we were both culpable. Make me the scapegoat, for my guilt is greater."_

"_Samath, please," Kaleb said, his voice choked with emotion._

"_Bless their union, and write an account that will cheer our descendants," Samath replied, shaking his head. "You will be the hero, I, the villain. Anything else would destroy the Order and ruin the reputation of Nealus, who is already revered as a Saint by some. Do not mourn me. When the Sickness claims you, we will be reunited in a better world. Retain the three figurines, and destroy them when the time is right."_

"_I hope so, Samath, my brother," Kaleb said, lifting the younger man in his arms as they crawled out of the cave._

"_Goodbye, Kaleb, my brother," Samath said, a peaceful smile on his face as his body slackened…_

"Is that the truth?" Ryan said, amazed.

_Yes, Eramond. Both of them were wrong. Samath, like Charlemagne, wanted power for himself. Kaleb, like you, wanted power for his group, for those he loved. To that end, Samath practiced black magic, and Kaleb secretly killed those in the Order who opposed him. Neither was a great hero, Eramond. Both were knaves. But both repented of their deeds, and they are now at peace with each other and with God. As for the sword, it is time to return it. Only then can your friend the demon be sealed for good._

"The sword?" Ryan drew it from his belt, and looked at it with awe.

_It passed to me, as Samath requested. It was sold by one of my descendants, in a moment of weakness, to a Republican scholar – through the agency of your father. Through these twists of fate, it ended up in your hands. In a similar way, the three figurines that Samath left to his friend were used by Charlemagne and Lady Anton twelve years ago, when the first line of their demonic plan was written. It is perhaps ironic that you were the one bringing them back to Charlemagne, unknown to you, to help his plan come to fruition. But now, like your Journeymen and my Commonwealth, the sword is a thing of the past. Return it, Eramond. If not for my sake, then for Carranya's._

"I will," Ryan said, "but that is the last thing you must ask of me."

_So be it._

With a sudden movement, Ryan hurled the sword into the pit. It glowed red as it fell, then seemed to disintegrate before his eyes, leaving only a light that faded after a few minutes. Only one sword remained with him – Eramond's Legacy, his grandfather's heirloom.

_Goodbye, Eramond,_ Lord Geraud said, affection in his voice. _We will not meet again for a long time, but I am certain that you can manage on your own. Be true to the Queen, and remember that you are not responsible for your ancestors' deeds. Live with honour, and repent of whatever wrong-doing there has been in your life thus far. That is all I can say, my boy. Good luck._

"Goodbye, Lord Geraud," Ryan replied gently, as he turned and exited the cave. "And though I'm saying it far too late, thank you."

xxx

It is a strange fact of life that celebration and mourning should go hand in hand – and so it was that, on the day of the nuptials of Queen Carranya with the war hero, Commander Eramond of the Rough Riders, one of Galvenia's first families was conspicuous by its absence. This was not because they had a grudge against the Queen or the Government – though they certainly had grounds for one – but because they had a more pressing matter to attend to.

"My life now seems to consist of sermons, by the Almighty," Sigmund Regale said wistfully, as he looked at the people before him: Leah and her family, his brother Vincent and his wife Agatha, Emily and Lavie, Commodore Reckland, and a quiet man in a monk's robe who had recently been appointed chaplain of the Royal Free Galvenia Hospital at Davenport. "But they come easier from a fellow sinner. Thank you, Brother Maximillian, and may your God reward you for speaking kindly to a man who has lived foolishly."

The monk bowed his head. "Whatever your sins may be, Mr. Regale, they are nothing compared to mine," he replied, as he got up and began to leave. "Goodbye. I shall now leave you to your family."

"Sigmund," Emily said softly, "I don't want to see you go – but I'm glad that it could be this way."

"Don't cry for me, Emily," Sigmund replied. "You'll all be well provided for – I've seen to that, and Vryce and Wright will manage the company in my stead, with a little help from Vincent."

"Sigmund," Emily said reproachfully, "how can you talk of money at a time like this?"

"Old habits die hard, darling," Sigmund replied, and Emily coloured at the endearment – a rare occurrence for the normally undemonstrative director of Regale Enterprises. "In this life, Emily, I have been fortunate – or, to borrow a term from that chaplain, I have been blessed. Blessed with financial success and acumen, even if my own vices endangered it. Blessed with a brother and sister who, though less successful, were far wiser than I was. Blessed in my wife, and in my dear child, Lavie. And blessed" – he drew a deep breath, summoning up the last of his strength – "that Lavie will have a good man, a far better man than me, to be her companion in life. Thank you all. I could not ask for more."

"Thank you, Daddy," Lavie replied, with a smile. "To think that John was afraid that you would disapprove of him."

"I did not quite say that, Lavender," Reckland protested.

Sigmund chuckled – a hoarse, feeble chuckle, but still a reminder of the man that he once was. "You'll be all right, now. Don't make the mistakes I did, John. Don't ignore Lavie or your children, even if you become the Commander of the entire Galvenian Navy – or a successful carrot farmer." He chuckled again.

"I won't, Mr. Regale," Reckland said quietly, taking Lavie's hand in his own.

"It's been a good life, hasn't it, Sigmund?" Leah said, wiping away a tear. "I'm glad we could share this last year."

"It has certainly," Vincent Regale replied. "Any last requests you've got for us, Sigmund, old chap?"

"Only this: don't let the Queen, the Prince Consort, or the new status of Galvenia get to you, or go to your head," Sigmund said drily. "Ryan Eramond's bubble will burst, just as Johan's and Geraud's all did. It may take time, but that's how history works. There are no 'happily ever after's in a history book. But, please the Infinity, there are some in our own lives, and may you all find them. Farewell."

"Farewell, Sigmund, my dearest," Emily said, leaning forward and resting her head on the bed, as he placed his hand over it. "We will all try, I promise."

And just as the twenty-one guns fired in the courtyard of Lorean Castle, as the Royal Couple – accompanied by tiny Prince Derren – marched out to applause and acclaim – Sigmund died peacefully, with Emily and Lavie beside him. His obituary in the next day's paper was muted – it could not be otherwise, given the occasion – but to those who had heard his last words, this did not matter.

xxx

Summer changed to autumn, and autumn to winter – the winter of 303, when President Terrin Hipper ratified the Zion-Galvenia treaty, bringing an official end to a war that was already over several months before. He then stunned the Commonwealth by proferring his resignation, citing a desire to return to his motherland, and new elections were hastily announced as Presidential power was, temporarily, left in the hands in the Executive Council.

The prisoners of the Battle of Davenport did not remain in prison that long; as part of the Queen's wedding festivities, a general amnesty was granted for all except convicted traitors. Those conscripts who were not engaged in defending Galvenia's new territories, and who wished to leave, were slowly granted honourable discharges, particularly those who had an education to complete. Olivia returned to her home and her daughter, and began to pick up the threads of her life.

That morning, Viola was at the beach, looking out at the cold waters of the Sea of Arlia as they struck the shoreline. The bloodstains that the Rough Riders had placed there had long since been washed away, but their memory remained.

Kneeling down by the sand, she picked up a seashell and held it to her ear, a faint smile coming to her face. Her mother's health had been seriously affected by her stay in prison, and she had been forced to leave her nursing duties to return to her side and care for her. Her scholarship at King's College had been withdrawn following the arrest, and was not restored despite the amnesty – leaving her with the option of either paying her way through, something she could ill afford, or abandoning her studies.

"_Do you hear it, child?" Gordon Benise said, as his young daughter sat on his knee._

"_It sounds like the waves, Daddy," little Viola replied excitedly. "How can the sea fit in here?"_

_Gordon laughed. "Life is like the sea, my child," he said, as they sat near the shoreline, looking out at the waters before them. "It can grow turbulent…"_

"_Turbulent? What does that mean?" Viola asked._

"_Difficult to sail through, Viola, my dear," he replied. "Sometimes life, like the sea, isn't that easy. Sometimes, we feel as if we're about to drown. But the Five Angels watch over us sailors, and across the thousand leagues, their gaze brings us home. No wonder the land-lubbers envy us."_

"_Am I a land-lubber, Daddy?" Viola said, with a laugh._

_Gordon chuckled. "The very idea. A spirited young sailor's lass like you? Don't be silly. Listen to your shell, Viola. Listen to it again. Sometimes, it sounds just like the sea. But sometimes, it sounds different – like a strong wind is blowing across it. That's how it sounded when I got off my first long journey and saw your mother, bless her soul, waiting for me at the docks. When you hear that sound, Viola, be happy, because it means that things will get better."_

"_Even if things are bad?" she asked, thinking of how solemn her father and mother had been the year before, when Gordon's beloved father had died in an accident._

"_Yes, my dear," Gordon said, in his booming, steady voice. "Especially when things are bad. Trust the Five Angels, my dear, because they're watching over you, and over every sailor's son and daughter."_

She listened – and then dropped the shell, surprised.

_A strong wind blowing._

Surely she was mistaken. Quickly, clumsily, she picked it up again and listened, but it was gone. Excitement turned to disappointment, and her face fell.

_Thank you for the memories, Daddy, even if your dream didn't come true,_ she thought. _To think that before this war, I used to wait out here, thinking that Prince Charming would come across the waves to find me. What a silly girl I was. _

"Viola!" The voice was loud and cheerful, and it was accompanied by the sight of Henrik Spenson, still in his corporal's uniform, running along the sands of Davenport Beach. "Your mother told me I could find you here. I'm home!"

"Home?" Placing the shell in a pocket of her apron, she began to run towards him, until she was standing directly before him. "Henrik…thank you for coming, Henrik."

"Why so glum?" Henrik said, setting his haversack down carelessly on the sand. "Is it the weather that's getting to you?"

"No," Viola confessed, tears coming to her eyes. "It's – everything, Henrik. Mother's health. Her imprisonment. And now, the fact that I may have to leave college." She leaned against his shoulder. "I'm sorry – I know I should be happy to see you, after all you've done for me, but…"

"Ah, but you see," Henrik said, taking her hand, "that's why I came in the first place! Sigmund Regale's estate has instituted scholarships for young men and women who've served their country – either at the front, or in the hospitals as you did – and you're one of the first beneficiaries. Now, isn't that good news?"

"Henrik!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it – but why would they pick me?"

"Let's just say," Henrik said firmly, "that not everyone is taking the Prince Consort's actions lying down. Galvenia has always been a land of freedom – not a dictatorship or a despotic Empire. That's the Galvenian dream, Viola, and it's why Lavie offered you one. Of course, I _did_ have a word with her on your behalf." He smiled.

"Lavie? Bless her," Viola said brokenly, as Henrik held her close. "But what about your own studies, Henrik?"

"Oh, my scholarship still stands, and I'm sure the Regales will help me if Lord Ryan changes his mind," Henrik said with a chuckle. "And after that, we'll settle down to a quiet life in Davenport, let Ryan and his Queen go to hell if they want to, and forget about wars, battles and plagues. We can even invite Mother Anna and the Pontiff to the wedding. How does that sound to you?"

Viola shook her head. "Wouldn't that harm your career, Henrik?" she said softly. "Professor Scott already sees you as a potential faculty member."

"Poor Scott's under a cloud too," Henrik replied. "It seems that he was also being used by Marksmith and Lady Anton, though he acted quite innocently. They've suspended him, but I hope he'll be reinstated. After all, even if he was being manipulated, he wasn't guilty himself – and he helped us save Mother Anna."

"But would King's College accept you if they knew you were married to a traitor's daughter?" Viola whispered.

Henrik's expression grew solemn. "In the first place, your mother _isn't_ a traitor; it's not her fault if Ryan has gone off his rocker," he replied. "And in the second place, I've never seen myself as one of those men who charge out to die for a cause. That's always seemed absurd to me, maybe because of my religion. Rather, I see myself as someone who could live quietly for my own cause, even if that means taking a pay cut or a less glamorous career. Those things don't matter to me – not as much as you do, Viola Marie Benise. I can't offer you wealth or fame – but then, we Spenson men are like that. Some call us foolish idealists, others just fools, but they say the Infinity watches over fools."

Her heart full with gratitude, Viola wiped her eyes on the sleeve of his uniform and looked up at him. "It's strange, Henrik….when I was younger, especially after Daddy died, I used to stay out here, waiting for Prince Charming to come to me, across the sea. So I guess we're a couple of fools."

"Who needs Prince Charming?" Henrik said warmly, as he kissed her. "No Prince Charming could love you the way I do. Leave him to his castle, his princess, and his schemes. We can make what we want of our lives, and even if the Prince does not envy us our fortune, he can certainly envy our happiness."

"That's right," Viola said softly, smiling as she handed the shell back to him. "We'll be all right."

xxx

"Do not weep, Anna," Pontiff Pious XXI said, as he prayed at the bedside of the elderly woman. "It is but a cold in the chest, and you will recover. The Itarian winter has been harsh, but it is good to have you home."

"I do not weep for my sufferings, Holy Father," Mother Anna replied, trying to smile, "but for the curse laid on me. When I believed that my prophecy was being misused by the Zion, I wept bitterly. And now that I see it fulfilled, I weep all the more. Has the Infinity lost patience with us?"

"Why, Anna!" Pious said gently, "Do you disapprove of the noble ruler whom the Galvenians now have?"

"Are you mocking me, Holy Father?" Anna replied reproachfully. "A commoner, an unbeliever, and a man of blood? Is he the one whom Lord Geraud prophesied about? God forbid!"

Slowly, patiently, Pious explained to her what he had learned from various sources – not the least his friends from Galvenia, Father Laplace and Doctor Sherman. "And that is the whole story, my good Anna," he concluded. "The son of the Journeymen, the last successor of Saint Nealus Hessen, will rule Galvenia. He will prove a greater friend to our Church than the perfidious Zion, even if his motives are purely political. Under him, Terra will move away from the dreary legacy of the Zion and the Varald – and his successors will continue his good work, or so I pray."

"Then God is good!" Anna exclaimed. "I was wrong. Forgive me, Holy Father."

"Wiser words were never spoken," Pious replied, as he blessed her. "God's ways are mysterious, but He always works with a purpose. The same smile that he turned upon Geraud and his Commonwealth will now be turned upon Eramond, his Queen and his son, even if their ways are different from Geraud's. Pray for him, Anna, pray without ceasing – for he will have a hard future ahead, opposed both by starry-eyed idealists and by cynical opponents, and like all men, he will stumble sometimes. It is a fearsome thing to be chosen by the Infinity."

"Yes, Holy Father," Anna said gently. "I will."

xxx

It was a day before Saint Mikhail's Day, and its attendant festivities, that the Queen Mother – weakened by grief, wounds, and illness – left this world, as unobtrusively as she had lived in it. Her final words, addressed to her daughter and her new husband, were few.

"Goodbye, Carranya, and may you be blessed," she said. "May you be more fortunate than I was. As for you, Commander, be a good father to my daughter's son, and teach him to be a King, even if you are not one."

"We will," they replied. Obviously content with this reply, she closed her eyes, sighed – and breathed her last.

Carranya remained at her bedside for a few moments, crying quietly, then rose, a look of determination on her face.

"Ryan," she said gently, "with Mother's death, our last tie to the old world, and the old ways, is gone. I'm glad that you agreed with my decision to join hands with the Church of the Infinity, my love."

"We're just two crazy kids, Carrie," Ryan said laughingly, "and we need all the support we can get. Besides, I'd much rather have the Saints on our side than Charlemagne's demons. But you'll be all right. It'll be just as I said when we first met, Carrie. You'll be a fine Queen, and I'll protect you from all the rebels, all the traitors. They will love you and Derren, and they will hate me for the upstart that I am. But Lord Geraud was right – a country as powerful as ours needs us both: a father's rod, and a mother's love. Together, we can do what he only dreamt of."

"Will it last, my love?" Carranya said, moved by his fervour.

"It will, as long as we want it to," Ryan replied. "History rewards the brave. And you are the bravest person I know, my Queen. Come what may, always remember that, and remember that I am here to serve you."

"Thank you, Ryan," Carranya said, as he enfolded her in his arms.

As they embraced, he could see the future unfold in dim shadows. He could see opposition and resistance within his own country – clashes with the priesthood that would soon come – and perhaps the resurgence of the Varald or the Zion. But those things mattered little. Whether he won or lost, or became a footnote in the history of Terra, he knew that he would always have Carranya's love. As she moved closer to him, he realized that regardless of his birth, he would always be King in her eyes.

King of Galvenia.

King – for one long, glorious day.

xxx


	24. Epilogue: Happiness

**EPILOGUE**  
_**Happiness**_

"_There are no happy endings in history, only crisis points that are passed."_

_Isaac Asimov, "The Gods Themselves"_

"_There are two tragedies in life.  
One is to lose your heart's desire.  
The other is to gain it."_

_George Bernard Shaw_

"And that, my young friend, is the story," Professor Henrik Spenson said. "He hasn't forgiven me for marrying Viola, or for taking every opportunity to criticize those aspects of his 'benevolent' rule that I disagree with, or for helping my late father with details of his anti-monarchist novels. But to give him his due, he hasn't harassed us or sought a petty vengeance, though he has generally looked at Davenport with a jaundiced eye."

"Still," Karl Weseluc replied, "what about the mutiny? It was only natural that the men of Ismar and Victoria, many of whom were conscripts of Zion birth, should rebel after a while – especially after the marriage of Siegbert and Hildegarde. And it was only natural that my father, Colonel Huntington, should try to negotiate rather than shoot down his brothers in arms. Why did Eramond crush them all so ruthlessly – including Dad, who meant no treachery?"

"Because, young Karl, he swore to protect Carranya – and those rebels were threatening her sovereignity. It is true that he went too far, but that is the role he chose for himself, and he has played it with brutal efficiency. A threat to her rule was a personal insult to him. He even went so far as to invoke an old Church law to have Thomssen, Lady Anton's henchman, burned at the stake."

"Talk about an obsessive love," Karl said darkly, remembering a novel he had studied in high school – a novel, he now recalled, which had been written by Professor Spenson's father, Alphonse.

"Oh, no, let us be fair to him," Spenson replied. "With her, he was a different man. I believe that the only times he was truly happy is when he was with his beloved Carranya, and with their eight children. When the Queen was dangerously ill after the birth of their second child, it was he who single-handedly cared for her, ruled in her stead, and ensured that she recovered. No mother, my source said, was as gentle as he was. When she died – God rest her soul – no one in the Kingdom mourned her more than he did, though he did not wail or lament. The old fire, the drive, was gone."

"What a strange person," Karl said, confused. "You sound as if you admire him."

"There are many gifts that the Infinity gives us, Karl," Professor Spenson said. "Perhaps the gift of strong rule is not one that I wish for, but I can admire it in others. And with Derren as his heir, the future of Galvenia is assured. He will rule wisely and firmly – though not as harshly as his father. The prophecy of Saint Geraud will be fulfilled."

"Still, the Queen could have ruled very well without him," Karl replied. "She was a woman of peace. He was a warmonger – and when there were no more wars, he fought his own people."

"That is one way of looking at it," the Professor replied, "and yet, it is not that simple. It was he who added the Chiasmus, a traditional symbol of Lord Geraud, to the shields and flags of the Galvenian army. Perhaps he believed that sometimes war was necessary to safeguard a greater peace."

"Are you boys still discussing politics?" Viola Spenson said with a laugh, entering the room bearing a cake on a tray. She was followed by her youngest child, Grace – a spirited child of fourteen whose carrot-coloured hair was clearly her father's legacy – carrying several cups of tea. "Leave him alone, Henrik. You're not going to convert him to being a Welfare Centrist in a few afternoons."

"Oh, I already vote Centrist, Mrs. Spenson," Karl said gratefully, as he accepted a teacup. "What's the occasion?"

"It's the anniversary of Henrik's appointment at Socius College," Viola explained. "He doesn't mention it, but Gracie and I need no excuse to bake him a cake."

The door swung open, and Frank Spenson – Henrik and Viola's son – entered, accompanied by his wife and young son. "Father!" he called out. "Are we on time yet?"

"Late as usual, my boy," Henrik replied, feigning disapproval. "I wonder how Lynn and your son put up with you already."

"Don't mind Father," Frank explained to a mystified Karl. "He's just imitating his own dad – my grandfather."

"Curses! Exposed again!" Henrik said lightly, as he sipped his tea. "How's your sister, Frank?"

"Hard work at the hospital, as usual, but she enjoys it," Frank replied. "Sylvia's just like Mother, you know."

"Is your daughter a nurse too, Mrs. Spenson?" Karl asked.

"Oh, dear, she's a cut above that," Viola said pleasantly. "I did work as a nurse and research assistant for a while after college, until I had Frank, but Sylvia's studying to be a child specialist at Alton. The Erasmus Fund pays for her education."

"Now, it's time to blow out the candles!" Grace said portentously. "Mum, do the honours!"

"Very funny, Gracie," Viola replied. Standing in front of the cake with its many candles, she raised her hand, and a gust of wind blew every candle out unerringly. Loud applause greeted this display, not least from Karl himself.

"Thank you all," he said, when it was time for him to leave, shaking hands with his new friends. "I'm afraid I had begun to look at life in a rather jaded fashion myself, but you've convinced me that no king or ruler can keep us from being happy. Thank you, with all my heart."

"There is more, young Karl," Viola said gently. "If you have the time, visit us next week, and we'll take you somewhere that can make even the most weary heart sing. Bring your parents, if you want."

"You know, Mrs. Spenson," Karl said brightly, "I think I shall take you up on that."

xxx

It was a large and noisy party – Henrik's family, Karl, and his parents – who boarded the ferry to Mann Island a week later. The journey passed pleasantly, though Grace did give them all some anxious moments with a series of pranks.

"Gracie, if you do that again, I'll ask Ryan Eramond to have you locked up," Sylvia threatened her, after finding a plastic spider in her cup of orange juice.

Grace laughed. "If he couldn't lock up Mum or Dad, how can he lock me up? Besides, minors don't go to prison. We learned that in school last month."

"Then we'll put you in one of those convents in Lorean," Viola said teasingly. "You'd find the uniform quite becoming."

"Ugh!" Grace protested. "I like the nuns at school, but I'm not going to dress that way, Mum!"

"Then behave yourself, my dear," Henrik said kindly. "You know your sister hates spiders. Try a lizard or something next time."

"_Dad!_" Sylvia protested, though she was laughing as well. "Why do you encourage her in that way?"

"Well, you did start it by saying that her hat looked like a land-mine, Sylvia dear," Viola said kindly. "Young girls are sensitive about fashion."

"Hang in there, Gracie," Karl's mother Cathy added. "I used to get no end of ribbing about my bonnet!"

"You still do, Mum," Karl pointed out.

"Mann Island," the ticket collector announced, ringing a small bell. "Come on now, folks, I'm not going to stop here forever!"

"Goody!" Frank's son Luke said. "I'm getting down first!"

"Race you to it," Grace challenged him, as they both set off down the plank as fast as their legs could carry them.

xxx

Even Karl, not given to songs of praise, was forced to acknowledge that it was a breathtaking sight. A large area of overgrown woodland had been cleared, and in its place were fields of every kind – wheat, corn, flowers of various colours. Patches of almost every known vegetable were interspersed with them, creating a patchwork quilt on the rich soil of Mann Island.

"Wow," Cathy said. "I really should have come here earlier. I guess I was just feeling awkward to face anyone after what happened to your father, though Lavie did ask me to come along several times."

Running towards them, a basket in her hand, was a young woman, not more than thirty – a woman who was a nearly identical copy of her mother Lavie. She stopped before the assembled group rather breathlessly, curtseyed, and smiled.

"Professor Spenson," she said, "it's great to have you all here! Mom and Daddy have been waiting for you, and even Marianne has dropped by!"

"Ah, it's a joy to see you too, Anne," Henrik replied. "How are the rest of you?"

"Dad's fine, though his lungs are still giving him some bother," Anne replied, "and Gerald, Emily and Dave are all at the old homestead, getting things ready. Come along!"

Still feeling as if he was in a pleasant dream that would end too soon, Karl followed them through the fields, and up to the path that led to the house.

It was little more than a large cottage, though it had been expanded on both wings, and two scarecrows with benevolent expressions guarded the gates. Standing at the door, hand in hand, were John Reckland and Lavie – the former still youthful despite his near-octogenarian status.

"Hurrah, you're all here!" Lavie said, running forward and embracing Cathy. "Cath, you silly girl, you never warned me you were coming!"

"I'm sorry I never did until now, Lavie," her old friend replied. "This is a beautiful place."

"And this must be your husband," Lavie said, shaking hands firmly with Peter, who looked a little awkward, but pleased. "I've always loved men in uniform, as John will tell you, even when they're out of it!" She laughed.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Reckland," Peter said. "And I must thank you for the generous offer you've made me, though I'm not sure if I want to relocate to Fulton."

"Then try Mann Island," Reckland said warmly, shaking hands with his old Army friend. "I'm getting on in years, Peter, and I need someone to help me run things here. This is as close to Davenport as you'll get."

Touched, Peter shook his head. "That's very good of you, John," he replied, "but won't you get into trouble with the authorities?"

Marianne, carrying a long oak stick, suddenly appeared at the door. "As far as such things go, Peter Huntington, _I_ am the authority," she said, "and if I allow you to hold a job on this estate, even King Derren won't oppose me." She laughed. "Even Juno knew better than to oppose me."

"Your husband's _Military History of the Terran War_ was a remarkable book," Karl said, shaking hands with Marianne. "My condolences on your loss."

"Oh, don't sweat it," Marianne replied gaily. "Juno wasn't the kind to mourn, at least not after I was finished with him! We made a pact, actually – that whatever happened to either of us, we wouldn't pull a long face about it! And even if it pleased Ryan Eramond to burn his books from time to time" – she made a dismissive gesture – "that never stopped him."

"Mother," Emily and Gerald – Lavie's eldest children, who were twins – called out in chorus, "are you still keeping them out in the sun? Come on in, everybody, lunch is ready!"

"Ah, Lavie, I see your children share your love of good food," Viola said, with a laugh, as she shepherded the large party inside the cottage's annexe.

"Of course we do, Aunt Viola," Anne replied. "It runs in the Lancaster family. Now come on in, I need the Professor's comments on my new book!"

"Only after lunch," Henrik said, with a smile.

It was later, after they had all eaten to their heart's content, and Marianne was handing out glasses of her home-made wine, that they proposed a toast – to each other, to their friendship, and to the future.

"And to Galvenia," Henrik said, at last. "To King Derren, and to all of his loyal subjects here, including the not-so-loyal ones."

Everyone laughed at this addition, though Marianne shook her head as she did so.

"Who are you to question my integrity, Henrik Spenson?" she retorted.

"He's affirming it, Madam Mayor," Viola replied with a grin.

"This has been a perfect day, hasn't it, son?" Cathy said to Karl.

"Indeed, Mum," he replied. "I wonder what His High Eminence, Ryan Eramond, is doing right now."

"Oh, don't worry about him," Lavie said. "He's made his choices, and we've made ours. So let's be glad we have this time with each other, and hope that he's happy with the life he's chosen."

"I'll drink to that, Lavie," John Reckland said. "As much as I cannot approve of his conduct, he was one of the men who made Galvenia what it is today."

A solemn note had fallen over the proceedings, and it was left to Gracie, that _enfant terrible_, to remove it.

"Uncle John," she said innocently, "if you were King, what would you like to do?"

"That's simple, child," Reckland replied. "Abdicate my throne, come back here and stay with all of you, and give it to whoever wanted it!"

"Goody," she said. "Can I have it now? I promise I won't put spiders in the Prime Minister's glass."

"What do you mean?" Reckland said, mystified, then looked down at his glass, in which a facsimile of a beetle was grinning back at him. His eyes widened, and then he began to laugh loudly.

"You've got me there, young lady," he said. "Fool me once, shame on me."

"If she can get past me, Uncle John," Sylvia consoled him, "you don't have a chance!"

"To plastic bugs, then," Karl said, raising his glass, and everyone joined him in the toast that followed.

xxx

The graveyard in Davenport was a quiet place at the best of times, even during funerals. Today, it was even quieter than usual, and the gatekeeper – a solemn young man, saving up for his priestly studies – paid little attention to the man dressed entirely in black, his head hooded, who had just entered. He was used to mourners and kept them in his prayers, but they did not bother him, no matter how grotesque they looked. He only caught a faint glimpse of the man's obscured face – his determined cast of features, his grey hair – and then returned to his prayer-book, which he was determined to memorize as all good seminarians must.

The old man knelt down before a particular grave, his head bowed, and placed a bouquet of flowers near the stone. Other graves, some bearing familiar names, surrounded him, but he ignored them.

_Grandpa,_ he thought, _I just had to see you one last time. Can you see me now?_

He shook his head.

_What would you say about me if you could see me know, Grandpa? Have I made you proud? I know I have done enough to be counted either a great hero, or a worthless villain – and yet, I believe I am something more than that._

_Carranya. I've been a shadow of myself ever since I lost her – though no one knows that, not even my sons and daughters, or my grandchildren. To them, I'm still the grand old man – the family patriarch. To Parliament, I'm still the cantankerous old Consort, a reminder of a long-gone age where men spoke and ruled more forcefully. To the nobles, I am someone who commands respect – not affection. To Galvenia, I was the Queen's evil genius – or, at best, her ruthless advisor. Quite a range of roles for one boy from Davenport, isn't it, Grandpa?_

_It was only to her that I could truly be myself. To her – and to you. The only two people who truly understood me are no more. I have no regrets, Carrie. I would do it all again if I had the chance, all for your sake and for the sake of our children. I know that you died loving me – and I shall die loving you, Carrie. I wonder what Grandpa would have thought of us, or the children – his great-grandsons and daughters._

_Why did I come here, Grandpa? Because I know what no one else, except Derren, knows. I do not have long to live. Few will truly mourn me apart from my children, even though all the ceremonies will be observed. But it was Carranya's part to be loved, just as it was mine to be feared. I accept that. And I hope that, when my time comes, the Infinity will allow me to see you again._

_Goodbye, Grandpa._

He stood up, and turned – then stepped back in amazement. Surrounding him were familiar faces – his father and mother, Anne Lancaster, Lavie, Henrik, Armin, and all the other boys and girls he had known during his youth in Davenport. He stretched out his hand, but they disappeared even before he could touch any of them.

Ryan swore inwardly. _Is this another of your torments, demon? You have not tormented me since Charlemagne's death. Are you trying to make me regret what I have done?_

A light, pleasant laugh, heard only by him, echoed in his ears.

_Lord Geraud! You again, _he thought, exasperatedly. _What are you trying to tell me?_

_I am merely showing you the path which your life diverged from, boy. Today, those men and women you see are dead, or living happily. To all intents and purposes, they have forgotten you. Perhaps some of them have not forgiven you. Do you regret this, Ryan Eramond?_

Ryan's expression softened. _No. It was all worth it. All for Carranya, for our children, and for the Kingdom. If you are trying to show me the price I paid, rest assured that I have lived with that knowledge every day since she left me. Everything in life has a price._

_Then I congratulate you, Eramond,_ Lord Geraud replied. _It is often said that to accept greatness, the price one pays is not in money or even in blood – it is in leaving behind the old, familiar, comforting world that one belongs to. I learned that lesson myself when I left the cocoon of Zion to father the Commonwealth. It was a lonely life, Ryan Eramond – almost as lonely as yours. You may not be a very good man – few of us are – but you have achieved greatness. Someday, your friends will understand._

_Why do you tell me this?_ Ryan retorted. _Are you not going to read me one of your interminable sermons?_

_The time for that is past, Ryan. Look above you._

Ryan felt the pain strike him like a sword-thrust, running through the left side of his chest. He felt himself falling, then rising – rising into the sky. As he looked up, he saw her.

_Carranya!_ he cried out, exultantly.

_I have waited for you a long time,_ she replied. _And I will wait a little longer, until the Infinity returns you to me. Welcome home, Ryan, my husband, my love._

_Welcome home, boy, _a second, familiar voice said.

_Grandpa!_

He tried to respond, but his lips were sealed. He found his ascent blocked, and realized that he was in a grey, quiet place. Looking down, he saw his prone figure lying on the ground – saw the attendant's shock and dismay as the hood fell from his face – saw him raise the alarm, inform the city police that a man had fallen dead in the graveyard, and that the man was Ryan Eramond, Prince Consort of Galvenia.

After a while, he stopped looking down, and waited.

_This is necessary, Ryan_, Lord Geraud said. _Only a few men do not have to wait. But be patient. I have given you a foretaste of what awaits you there._

_Thank you, Geraud,_ Ryan replied, and composed himself, knowing that he would wait for a long time – far longer than his mind could conceive of. But he also knew that the wait would end someday. And on that day, he would be with his grandfather – and, most important of all, with her.

_Wait for me, Carranya, my love,_ he thought. _I will be with you._

Then his last thought faded, and the waiting began.

_**The End**_


End file.
